


Play Me Some More of that Old Blues

by dragonnan



Category: Cowboy Bebop
Genre: Electra - Freeform, Gen, Knockin' on Heaven's Door, Medical Procedures, Movie Reference, Post Series, Vincent - Freeform, series sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 02:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 39,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonnan/pseuds/dragonnan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things forgotten, some things remembered. Faye and Jet thought they were all that was left. Something from the past returns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Mediaminer October 05, 2005
> 
> First Place: Maximum Challenge Writing contest 2006, “I Wanna Do More” category, Mediaminer.org
> 
> Best of the Best: 2006 “Play Me Some More of that Old Blues”, Maximum Challenge Writing contest, “Best Overall” category, Mediaminer.org
> 
>  
> 
> Major spoilers for Real Folk Blues 1 2, KOHD (the Movie)
> 
> AN: If you haven't seen the movie, (or the series! Eeep!), you'll miss a lot of what's going on in this fic, in fact, much of what happens in this story is based `almost' exclusively on events from the film. In any event, if you haven't seen the movie, that what the heck are you doing reading this humble tale? Get the hell out and rent that bad boy! When you're done, come on back and see me.

There was a hum.

 

The sound was almost lost within the cavernous space of the room. Soft lights played on the surfaces of new machinery, green glass, and pale flesh that had been barred from the sun for too long. Two men stood in the room, speaking in hushed tones while examining the readout on a display at the foot of a long cylinder, approximately chest high and beaded with water droplets. The shorter of the two men leaned against the device, unconcerned about the moisture that soaked through the heavy cloth of his suit.

 

“Any reaction in the beta group?”

 

The taller man shook his head. “Nothing. Like I told you before, the samples are useless in that state. If we had a viable batch…”

 

“We don't, at least not yet. Look, I thought you said you had some results for me. Mr. Caulder will be very unhappy if I don't bring him something.”

 

Tugging at the collar of his shirt, the taller man tapped at the screen of his display, pulling up a strange set of images. “I didn't have time to fully analyze this before you arrived, but I did notice something a bit unusual in sample B. I wanted to examine it further but…”

 

“Show me.”

 

Bending to his task, the tall man tapped away for a moment again before stepping away from the screen. Sighing, he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Well, as you know, sample B was injected with a culture taken from the alpha subject. In this instance, I chose to stimulate the culture with a small electrical pulse. I set it for three-second intervals. The other samples in the series were placed under steady current. We already know that heat no longer seems to trigger a response. I think this is due, in part, to the fact that the alpha subject is deceased. Apparently when the body entered into rigor it caused the devices to revert into an inactive state, effectively deactivating…”

 

“This is irrelevant, please tell me about sample B.”

 

Clearing his throat, the other man rubbed his neck again. “The, ah, the subject, sample…. sample B, it seems, is showing a reaction to the intermittent electrical pulse. It…. well, see for yourself.” The taller man led his companion to a stout microscope. The entire device was enclosed in a sealed environment; the dials were operated by typing commands into a computer relay system. Once the system was adjusted, the shorter man leaned toward the microscope, holding back his tie with one hand to avoid obstructing his view. What he saw caused a small gasp to escape him.

 

“They're dividing.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Earth: Anchorage, Alaska_

Long, tapered fingers wrapped delicately around the nubbed handle of a Glock 30 handgun. Red lips parted to blow away an errant strand of dark hair. That done, they turned upward into a half-smile. Jade eyes glared smokily from under charcoal lashes, showing none of the humor that the lips betrayed.

 

“So, are you planning to come along peaceable-like, or do I need to blow a hole through your kneecap first?”

 

The shaking man stared back at the woman behind him. Only moments before, he had asked her how much, and she had smiled sweetly, rubbing his arm. Next thing he knew, there was a glint of dull metal and she went from evening entertainment to nightmare in a heartbeat! Licking his lips, the terrified man shifted his eyes around, looking for any escape at all. Unfortunately, he seemed to lack severely in the rescue department.

 

“L-look, lady, I, I don't know what this is about! Last I heard, prostitution was still legalized on this planet!”

 

The woman smiled icily again, sighting her weapon. “Oh, it is- so I've heard. Unfortunately, murder is still considered a crime. Now, don't make me repeat my question.”

 

The man blinked, the fear inside changing to terror. “You're, you're a b-bounty hunter?”

 

Faye grinned menacingly. “I prefer `Angel of Justice' myself, but- yeah, whatever. Now come on!” Reaching out, she snagged his arm. With a burst of adrenaline, the bounty-head ripped away from her, ducking as she fired off a shot.

 

“Hey, hey, get back here dammit! I need gas for my ship you little swine!” Snarling fiercely, Faye tightened the grip on her gun and ran after him.

 

 

 

***

 

The sound of water lapping against the hull of the Bebop was a balm to Jet. He enjoyed his work, especially when it paid the bills. But all the time spent in space tended to wear at him after a while. The feel of earth beneath his feet, the sound of water and the call of sea birds, these were the things that his heart ached for.

 

Squatting by his Hammerhead, Jet rubbed absently at the stiffness in his leg. Six months, six months and the pain still hadn't completely left. Hefting a wrench, the bounty hunter loosened a dented side panel from the old craft. The panel made a hollow clunk as he dropped it to the deck plates. Examining the wires, prongs, and tubes within the site, Jet grunted. “Damn, I knew it was a blown coil! She better get back here soon or…”

 

The sound of a light craft could suddenly be heard outside. In moments, the Bebop shuddered as the Redtail made its standard landing on the deck. Jet stood painfully as the outer hatch rolled aside to reveal a battered Faye. His brow went up as he examined the yellow of her collar, which was the only color visible above the sheet of mud that covered her from the chest down. “Did you get him? Or did you decide to visit one of those fancy spas? You know, you can't just spend money indiscriminately Faye…”

 

“Oh stuff it Jet! Yeah, I got him! And if you weren't such an ass…”

 

“I'd know that you fell into Ship Creek in the process.”

 

Faye merely glared. Then, digging into her pocket, she produced a money card, which she handed to Jet along with a healthy gob of rancid mud. “Enjoy. Oh, and I already took out my share, along with a healthy tip for my troubles, and don't you dare ask for it back!” Jet stared at the mud in his hand with open disgust. Then, shrugging, he wiped it off on an oil rag hanging at his waist. Disposing of the rag in a nearby wastebin, Jet followed Faye into the main part of the ship. “Don't sit on the couch in your muddy clothes, that stink would never leave!”

 

Faye looked over her shoulder scornfully. “You don't have to warn ME! Fortunately for you I'm not like Spi…” Her voice choked as she bit her lip. With a watery intake of breath, she started walking again. “I'm gonna take a shower. I'm really hungry, think you could fix supper early tonight?”

 

Jet looked after her as she disappeared from sight. His mouth formed a hard line as he looked at the money card again. Sighing, he slid it into his pocket and turned back to the docking bay, his boots thunking heavily on the metal floor. Six months, and the pain still hadn't left.

 

 

***

 

 

 

_Location Unknown_

The thin form was encased in tiny bubbles. Occasionally, a couple would lethargically roll upward, a miniature pocket of air that would rise to the surface of the tepid water, and burst, soundlessly, at the top. The body hung, long wires trailing from the scarred flesh to connect with a bank of monitors. Each one gave a different readout. Each one showed minimal lifesigns. Minimal, but not absent. The tall man walked up to the cylinder that contained the suspended individual. Glancing once at the monitors, he jotted a few notes on his pad before checking the connecting wires at the back of the devices. Assured that they were all firmly in place, he continued on, never once looking at the body beyond the glass.

 

Within its cocoon of fluid and glass, the slender body slept. Calloused fingers floated slack, each one tipped with a small metal cap. A scalp that had once boasted a healthy head of hair was now shaved completely, replaced by a forest of bristling needles. Nothing of modesty remained on the naked form, save for the metal and rubber that encased the flesh, monitoring its systems, and keeping it alive. From the outside, `alive' seemed a relative term. Blood still flowed, the heart still beat within the chest. The devices imbedded in the brain still registered electrical activity. But to an observer, that was all the activity there was. No breath lifted the chest, there was no need as oxygen was provided through an outside source. In fact, the lungs had been disabled to prevent any movement whatsoever. To anyone looking on, the body appeared dead. However, this was not the case. Something yet remained. It would manifest itself as a miniscule eye twitch, a tiny movement that was written off as random electrical stimuli. But the truth of the matter was far more interesting. Behind the lids, beneath the cloud of paralyzing drugs, a ragged voice was screaming.

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Faye stared hard, not noticing that the tip of her tongue was protruding slightly from between her lips. Her hair was soaked, and long, wet trails skittered down the smooth surfaces of her skin. She shifted a bit, but did not stand as she continued to concentrate on the reflection of light on her gun. She had come into her room, once her shower ended, with the intention of wiping down the muddied weapon. Apparently someone had beaten her to it, for the Glock shone with its fresh application of oil.

 

Jet.

 

This wasn't the first time either. Ever since… she squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away. It was just his way of dealing. They all had their ways. Jet brooded, trimmed his trees, and did what he could to make her know he understood. For her part, she went out every time there was a bounty, regardless of how small, and kicked ass. Ruefully, Faye regarded her soiled boots in the corner where she'd tossed them. Well, usually she kicked ass. Sighing, she stood to her feet, ignoring the towel that loosened from her body and slid to the floor. She felt warm; the ship was too humid. This always happened whenever they were planet bound. Combing her fingers through her hair, Faye grabbed her t-shirt and shorts. Her muddy clothes would require some work to keep the stains off. Too bad Jet couldn't have washed those too while he was at it.

 

As Faye walked to the laundry area, she found herself musing again. `Wonder where Ed is now', she thought. `Wonder if, if she even knows…' There had been no word from the young hacker since she left the ship; she and Ein had vanished into the desert. On silent agreement, neither Faye nor Jet made any attempt to locate her. After all, Faye herself was the one to suggest she go find herself. “Fine time for her to actually listen to me.” Faye said aloud, shifting her garments to one arm while she slid the curtain to the laundry room aside. Digging through the various cleaners and pre-treaters Jet kept beneath the sink, Faye finally opted for the unlabeled semi-clear jug half-filled with mystery liquid Jet claimed was the best for getting out stains. Unscrewing the cap, Faye coughed at the noxious odor that wafted up from the depths of the jug. The fluid inside was a murky white, shot through with freckles of sandy grit. With her typical delicacy, Faye dumped a splash on top of her clothes. Regarding her sodden garments for a moment, she upended the rest of the contents into the washer.

 

As her clothes slogged and sloshed in the washing unit, Faye leaned against the bulkhead, arms folded across her chest. Her eyes half-closed with the comforting sounds of water agitating. It was still too warm. It had been warm that day too…

 

 

_“Where are you going? Why are you going?”_

  


_“I have been seeing the past in one eye…”_

 

  


_“You told me once that the past didn't matter...”_

  


_“I thought I was watching a dream that I would never wake up from…”_

  


_“Are you telling me you're going to just throw your life away?!”_

_“I'm not going there to die.”_

  


_“Don't tell me stuff like that now!”_

  


_“I'm going there to see if I'm really alive.”_

Faye's head jerked up sharply with the ghostly report of a gun. The sound echoed in her mind, blending with the washer as it clicked into the spin cycle. Her lower lip trembled slightly, and she sucked it between her teeth to still the motion.

 

_“why do you have to go…”_

 

Faye winced as her teeth clenched, cutting into her lip. Kicking away from the bulkhead, she flipped open the washer, not waiting for it to finish emptying itself of dank water. Grabbing the slippery mass, she threw it roughly into the dryer, remembering to adjust the settings for vinyl. The metal button on her top made a familiar clank as the dryer started spinning. Rubbing her still-damp hair, Faye left the small room. Jet wasn't in the living room when she plopped down on the couch. A note on the stout metal table said he'd gone to town to get a new coil for the Hammerhead. Faye grimaced, reading between the lines. What he really meant was that he needed the fresh air, such as it was, and that he was going to barter at a junkyard for a used coil and probably use up what little cash they had left. Faye crumpled the note, hating the feeling of failure that ran through her. “Might as well see if there's any food left.” She murmured, striding purposefully towards the kitchen. As if she didn't know the answer to that question already.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

A figure sat at a small metal desk. Absently, he tapped a pen against his teeth, barely registering the tiny click of sound. He was studying the results of their latest round of tests.

 

He wasn't smiling.

 

All that work, and here they were, back at square one. He sighed, lifting his arms above his head in a long stretch. Mr. Caulder was going to be furious when he found out. The tall man grunted. And, of course, that asshole Mathis would be the one to take his pound of flesh when he had to announce the latest turn. Rubbing his bleary eyes, the man started lifting the printout, only to drop it to the table again. Staring at it wouldn't change the results one iota. The simple fact remained; the experiment had failed. The devices from sample B had divided cleanly for about two hours after Mathis had gone. Then, abruptly, the mitosis had stopped. The devices returned to their inert state, and nothing he did restored them to activity.

 

The phone on the desk rang sharply. He answered it in the middle of the third ring. “Wilde.” The voice on the other end spoke briefly, and rapidly. After a few seconds, Wilde hung up. A new light was in his eyes, along with a dart of hope.

 

Perhaps all was not lost after all.

 

***

 

Faye winced as the tip of the blade scored a red line across her flesh. “Damn it!” She said, grasping the side of her hand. Why the hell she'd decided to cook, now, she'd never understand. She'd never had a desire to cook while aboard the Bebop; granted, what they had for food was limited to begin with. As it was, her restored memories gave no indication that cooking was something she enjoyed from her past either. Yet, in spite of this, here she stood, chopping away at a head of wilting cabbage while a boiling pot sizzled on an open flame behind her. As Faye set down her knife to see to her cut, she considered why Jet seemed to take such pleasure in a task he obviously had so little skill with. Staring at her hand, she came to the conclusion that perhaps Jet was just nuts.

 

The sizzling sound behind her grew louder. “Oh Crap!”

 

Faye ran to the stove where milky water was boiling out from under a jumping cover. As she lunged to reduce the heat, a splash of steaming liquid sputtered on the heating element and peppered her already wounded hand with pinpricks of acid. “Ahhh! Damn, damn, damn!” Angrily, Faye lashed out with her foot, kicking the stove several times as she sucked at the damaged flesh.

 

***

 

 

When Jet arrived back at the ship, dinner sat waiting for him on the table. Looking at the results of Faye's kitchen adventure he groaned, running a hand over his eyes.

 

“And she claims MY cooking is bad.” He murmured under his breath.

 

A lumpy pile that had started out as boiled cabbage sat unceremoniously on the side of a plate. Jet poked it tentatively with a metal finger while examining the rest of the meal. There was a gluey substance next to the cabbage he assumed was either over-cooked noodles or school paste. The only other food item was a sprig of parsley, obnoxiously enough, set in the middle of the disaster as some sort of macabre garnish. Jet backed away from the table, keeping his eyes locked on the plate in case it moved.

 

Several seconds passed while he was in the kitchen. Then he returned, clad in apron, goggles, and heavy gloves. Catching the edge of the plate between two fingers, Jet rushed outside, flinging the entire production into Cook Inlet.

 

Returning back inside, Jet shed his protective clothing and picked up the bag he'd brought back with him. Reaching within, he pulled out the coil he'd managed to acquire for the Hammerhead. Rubbing at a patch of corrosion on the unit, he turned and made his way to the docking area.

***

 

Dr. Christopher Wilde, once rising star in the forefront of medical science, squatted on his heels in a forth storey apartment. He shoes squeaked a little on the fine grit covering the floor. All the pertinent evidence had been removed over a year ago by the ISSP. However, some things remained. The floor was warped, the wood faded; yet the stains were still visible. A winding streak of dirty brown curved from the main living quarters to the entry room. Another stain marred the base of the door, spattering across the surface in a violent sweep. Wilde had been in this room before, and found it just as distasteful as his last visit. The flies had long since gone, as had the bodies. And yet, there was still that lingering scent, that dark rotting odor that teased at the base of his throat. Standing, Wilde walked to the row of windows in the other room. The broken one was boarded over, but the rest were still whole. Flicking open the lock, Wilde set his feet and shoved, hard. The window stuck. Gritting his teeth, he leaned into the effort, feeling the wood under his fingers crumble and flake. After a moment of futile struggle he gave up, examining the reddened skin of his palms. A small splinter was imbedded in his flesh, and he removed it impatiently.

 

When he glanced up, a dull glint caught his eye. Stepping to the far corner of the room, he crouched down, reaching under the edge of the baseboards for the thing that had caught his attention. With one finger and his thumb, Wilde lifted the triangle shaped piece of metal from its resting place. It appeared to be some kind of button, the threads on the back cut cleanly. Wilde frowned, rubbing the button absently. There had been two victims in this room, and neither one of them had been wearing clothes with buttons like this. Wilde knew this for a fact, for he had examined the bodies himself before the autopsies. He bounced the button on his palm. Could someone else have been here? The caller from earlier insisted that there had, in fact, been another person in this room…. Someone who hadn't died like the others.

 

There had been someone else, someone who, unfortunately, had been outside their reach. They had followed her at a discrete distance, always waiting, always watching. Wilde remembered Mr. Caulder's fury when she's been killed. She had been their best chance at making their work possible.

 

And now she was dead, wasted effort.

 

As with the other, her body resided now at the facility. However, tests on her revealed nothing. As with the alpha subject, the devices in her body had become inert, useless.

 

Wilde examined the button again. But if there was someone else out there…

 

Wrapping his fingers around the scrap of metal, Wilde stood and strode from the tainted room. Time to call in some old favors.

 

***

 

“You do understand this isn't free; ISSP doesn't pay what they used to.”

 

The voice sounded flat within the close confines of the car. Without speaking, Dr. Wilde slipped a portable transfer device from his jacket pocket. Quickly, he slid the card into the machine, punched a few numbers, and handed the card back to his contact. Without even glancing at the numbers, the contact slid the card under his coat.

 

“You were right. Vincent had three visitors to his apartment. The first one, of course, was his accomplice, Lee Samson. Guy was a complete nutcase, spent all his free-time playing ancient video games. As you know, Vincent didn't keep him around too long.” The contact paused to light a cigarette, taking several seconds to breathe in a pull of nicotine- then releasing it with a short cough. “Murata, his contact, was the next one he killed there, stabbed him in the chest, nice guy.” Wilde drummed his fingers on his leg impatiently. He knew all this, he'd been to the apartment, seen the bodies. Biting his lip, he swallowed his agitation. He knew from experience it would be pointless to rush this man, he had an irritating habit of clamming up if he thought he was being pressured. Another breath of acrid smoke billowed within the car. Wilde waved it away, wrinkling his nose. Finally, when the cigarette was about halfway gone, the contact spoke again.

 

“Between the two killings, someone else dropped by for a visit… a bounty hunter.” Wilde sat up, turning his head sharply towards the other man. “You're… you're kidding… who was he?” A puff of smoke. “Not he, she. Her name is Faye Valentine. Seems she tracked Vincent to his apartment, planned on picking up that tidy bounty, and got something else instead.” Wilde blinked, not saying anything. The contact continued speaking, small tendrils of smoke mixing with the words. “Currently, Miss Valentine is staying aboard an old fishing vessel called the Bebop. In fact, her partner is an old ISSP officer named Jet Black.” He said more, but Wilde didn't hear him. His mind was already ten moves ahead.

 

Faye Valentine.

 

***

 

Richard Caulder sat loosely in his leather chair. One elbow rested on his polished table, his hand at his chin. Outside the carved oak doors, he could hear a phone ring. Moments later, a red light flashed on the unit on his desk. Straightening slightly, Mr. Caulder lifted the receiver.

 

“Yes.”

 

He listened for a few seconds, his eyes never betraying the sudden rush of excitement, of hope, that ran through him.

 

“Very good. Alert me immediately when the subject arrives.”

 

Not waiting for the acknowledgment of his orders, Mr. Caulder rested the receiver back on its base. Sitting up sharply, he pressed a white button on the underside of his desk. In moments, the heavy outer door swung open. Silently, Andrew Mathis slid inside, allowing the door to fall shut behind him. Barely glancing at the other man, Mr. Caulder stood and walked to wall-sized window dominating the space behind his desk. Placing his hands behind his back, he turned to examine the ships cruising by below. Mathis waited, arms loose at his sides. Finally, Mr. Caulder turned.

 

“I have a job for you.”


	4. Chapter 4

Desert sand.

 

Hot desert sand to be exact.

 

Long toes wriggled inside a pair of heavy work boots, as though longing to spring free of the stiff cage that enclosed them. Above, blazing sunlight created wavy patterns as it baked the scorched earth.

 

Something exploded.

 

“YEEE HAAAAAAA! All right kid! Point 001 percent! That's the best I've seen so far!”

 

A disheveled head poked up, covered in grit. “Point 001 percent? Ooooo, not so good, still too much!”

 

Appledelhi Siniz Hesap Lutfen kneeled next to his child, peering over her shoulder at the screen in front of her. “Come on kid, that's not so bad! After all, before you joined the posse, we had to do all this manually! With your new prediction program, we're actually starting to get noticed out here!” He turned his large head to look over his shoulder.

 

“Ain't that right, Macenrow?”

 

Macintire sighed expansively, no longer energetic enough to correct the larger man. “That's right, before we were just considered crackpots, no one understood the value of our work…”

 

“All done!” Piped the redheaded girl.

 

Macintire choked off his words, jumping down beside the other two individuals. “You're, you're done? Just like that?”

 

Ed giggled. “MPU is very, very smart! He solved the problem for Ed, found the missing data pieces!”

 

Appledelhi patted the computer gently, careful of his large hands. “Good work, uh, MPU. Good man!”

 

The computer blinked, the screen changing to a dark image of flashing synapses, like a lightning storm. “Thank you. I was pleased to do this for Ed, she saved me, and now I can return the favor.” A small dog approached the computer, sniffing it tentatively before lying down next to it. Ed leaped in the air, dancing around. “Weeeeeeeeee!”

***

 

The night stars had been in the sky many hours when Ed knelt down by Macintire's computer. Since she had been with the two men, she had modified the old unit, adding several components to make the transfer easier, more comfortable. Tomato blinked, a familiar visage flickering on the surface. “Edward.”

 

The young girl paused in her work. “Nyeah?”

 

MPU swirled on the screen, the color warming slightly. “Thank you Edward. You have been a good friend.” The girl smiled hugely, all teeth. Then her eyes suddenly grew sad. “MPU has been good friend to Ed too! Ed will miss MPU!” The computer blinked, a line of data running across the surface of the screen.

 

“I will miss you too Edward. Thank you for giving me a purpose again. Farewell.”

 

Ed made the final link between the two computers, inputting all traces of MPU into the other unit. In moments, the transfer was complete. Ed typed a few commands, assuring herself that the entire data file had entwined itself within the other computer. Then, with a small smile, she grabbed up Tomato. “Good bye MPU!”

 

When Macintire and Appledelhi woke the next morning, Ed and Ein were gone, Ed's borrowed boots resting on the ground by the truck. Macintire's old computer blinked at them. “Good morning Appledelhi, good morning Macintile.” The younger man blinked. “You've got to be kidding! Even the damn computer gets my name wrong!”

 

***

 

Ed stood, staring up into the azure sky above. Below, her long toes wriggled in the hot sand, unaffected by the burning heat. Ein sat by her feet, tongue protruding from slack jaws while he panted quietly. After a few moments, Ed turned sharply to the south and began skipping joyously, the little dog chasing after her as swiftly as his short legs could propel him.

 

***

 

Faye slumped on the tattered yellow couch, long legs propped up on the metal table before her. Between her teeth, a cigarette was clamped tightly, a thin thread of smoke rising from the tip.

 

“Faye.”

 

She sat motionless, her eyes half-lidded as she gazed at nothing, her mind working quietly.

 

“Faye!”

 

She glanced up, almost startled by the face peering at her over her shoulder. “Wha…. Jet.”

 

The older man regarded her strangely. “What's with you? I told you twenty minutes ago to be ready…”

 

Faye stood absently, dropping her cigarette onto an empty plate as she walked to the door. “I think I'm gonna take a walk, don't wait for me.”

 

Once she was out the door, Jet scratched his head, baffled. “Kids, dogs, and women with attitude. Spike-o, you had it pegged.”

 

***

 

Faye walked along the pier, seeing and not seeing the seabirds the fluttered and dove across the slate-blue water. She was remembering something her mother said once, long, long ago.

 

_“I want you to know, no matter what you decide, your father and I will always be there for you. College is a big step, especially one so far away as this. We'll be with you as far as the shuttle…”_

 

The voice faded to an echo. Faye shivered, pulling back into herself. Ever since her revelation all those months ago, the memories had begun seeping back into her head. Often, the memories occurred with a trigger… a smell, or seeing something familiar. More often than not though, the memories would just rush into her, overwhelm her without warning. Sometimes, she'd come out of her memories and have no concept of how much time had passed. She was afraid to speak of it to Jet. In fact, the idea of revealing this to him was repellant; speaking of the past seemed to end disastrously in her experience.

 

A gust of wind lifted the hair from her neck. Faye stiffened, something demanded her attention. Keeping her body still, she peered from the corner of her eyes. A figure stood several yards away, staring out at the water, just as she was. However, something, something seemed…. off…

 

Faye casually turned, walking away from the other individual. Once around a corner, she stopped, creeping back to look around the edge. The man was still standing there, watching the birds hovering above. Smirking at her own jittery nerves, Faye turned.. and smacked into the chest of someone standing directly behind her.

 

“Uh, sorry, my mind must be wandering…”

 

The man stared down at her, unsmiling. “Perhaps you should pay more attention to where you're going.” Faye's eyes widened… the man before her wasn't the one who had spoken. She turned, and saw the man she thought she'd left at the pier. He regarded her, a faint smile on his face. “If you'd be so kind, miss Valentine, there is someone who'd very much like to meet you.”

 

Faye dropped to a crouch, sweeping at the legs of the shorter man. Somehow, though, her target was no longer there. As she tried to roll away, a meaty pair of hands latched around her neck. She growled, kicking behind her, feeling her booted feet connect with solid flesh. The fingers tightened.

 

Inexplicably, a trace of music danced through her head. Opera music, she'd heard it before… a darkened theatre, a body, frozen at her side. As her vision darkened, she saw him again, that same sarcastic smile on his face. She heard her own voice, filled with desperate hope.

 

_“You mean you're really gonna come for me?”_

 

Cold fingers continued to tighten. She ceased her struggle, her arms falling limp.

 

_“It's possible, I've got my reasons, so don't take it personal…”_

 

The echo faded to black.

 

***

 

“…on of a bitch! You better hope she isn't permanently damaged! Mr. Caulder expressed to me, in no uncertain terms, that the subject was to be apprehended, unharmed!”

 

Faye blinked heavily, wincing as she swallowed. Her throat felt as though it were scraped raw. A rough cough shook her, eliciting a weak moan. A smooth hand touched her forehead, checked her pulse.

 

“She's breathing alright, though it'll probably be painful for a day or so. You're lucky.”

 

Another voice grunted. “I was just told to get her here, nothing was said about being delicate.”

 

The first voice spoke up again, much of the anger gone. “Just make sure she heals. That is your only concern Doctor. Now, If you don't mind giving us a moment alone, I have some questions for our, guest.”

 

Distantly, she heard a double pair of footsteps recede into the distance. Hands were at her throat, gently probing the rising bruises. “I'm sorry about this, we were hoping to get you here without a struggle.” Faye tried to turn her head, but the hands held her in place firmly. “What, where am I?” She asked instead, straining to hear familiar sounds, and failing.

 

“A facility of study. You're a fascinating individual miss Valentine. But then, that's not your real name, is it.” He stated blandly. Faye's eyes widened, and she bit her lip to suppress a shiver.

 

“That's right, we know quite a bit about you.” He continued amiably. “Seems you've had a very interesting past. Let's see, you were born on Earth, 96, 97… I don't remember the exact year. Your family was quite wealthy. Your father, Mako Aramaki, was a politician. I found it an amusing irony that he voted against legalized gambling in the early part of his career.”

 

Faye couldn't suppress the shiver this time. “How….” Her voice rasped, making her throat spasm again.

 

“Ever since we learned of you, we've made it a point to find out everything about you. You see, you have something we need”

 

There was a movement, and a face leaned close to hers. A puff of breath struck her cheek, she smelled menthol. “Tell me, miss Valentine. How many times have you been sick in the past year?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: For those of you sitting there scratching your heads thinking `what the hell's an MPU???'-here's the data. MPU was introduced in the episode, “Jamming With Edward”. He's a self-aware computer program that controls a satellite orbiting Earth. Edward downloads the program onto her computer during the episode. Afterwards, nothing is ever mentioned of him again- so I thought I'd give him something to do. Mako Aramaki is actually a real person in Tokyo who opposed legalized gambling. I actually researched that part! I wrote the brief background for her father BEFORE looking up gambling in Tokyo. I was shocked to find a mention of this individual, and just had to make him her dad.


	5. Chapter 5

The Hammerhead groaned as it sank on its landing struts. The craft was old, and was complaining like it. Jet wasn't old, yet, but had begun to feel that way lately. The other day he'd found a single pale hair in his beard, and had plucked it out angrily. “Damn her, and damn the kid, and damn Spike!” He muttered as he shoved his hands in his pockets, striding purposefully toward the small grocery store. The bell jingled merrily as he pushed his way inside, shuddering involuntarily at the sudden change in temperature. It had to be at least twenty degrees cooler inside the store than it was outside.

 

At his entrance, the sales clerk glanced up briefly, then returned to reading the tabloid he'd filched from the sales rack. Ignoring him, Jet grabbed a cart and began making his way down an aisle. Due to his excellent bartering skills, Jet had actually made out better than he'd hoped on the purchase of the coil for his ship. That meant he had enough money to restock…. stock, rather, their sorely depleted food supply. And after the horrifying concoction Faye had spawned in the kitchen, Jet made sure that most of the food was pre-cooked, ready-to-go meals. “Let her complain, not like she's here to help me with this anyhow.” Grumbling, he tossed a carton of noodles into the cart. “Promises to help me do the shopping, then just runs off again.” His communicator buzzed at his waist. He grabbed for it, still muttering. “Damn all of them, What!” He barked, flipping open the tiny screen. It wasn't Faye that looked back at him though. Jet's brows rose at the worried visage that peered back at him. “Bob?”

 

***

 

Jet sat within the enclosed space of his Hammerhead. His cart of groceries still sat in the store, forgotten the moment his ISSP contact had spoken.

 

“Ok, it's all clear. Now tell me what's going on.”

 

Bob rubbed a calloused hand over his worn features. His breath came out in a shaky huff. Jet had never seen him this worked up, and it scared him… it scared him badly.

 

“I want you to know, Jet, that ISSP has been working on this for about five weeks now. It was all under control, or so we thought. I still can't believe…”

 

Jet squared his shoulders. “Just tell me.”

 

Bob wiped his face, seeming to pull back into himself a bit. In any event, when he started speaking again, his voice had lost its quaver. “Approximately eight months ago, Murakami Haruki was pushed from the twenty-fifth floor of his downtown apartment.”

 

Jet's brow furrowed. “Who…”

 

“He was the CEO of Cherious Medical, the company that was responsible for Vincent Volaju. I assume you remember him, don't you?”

 

Now Jet understood. The mere mention of Vincent's name was enough to make his heart race. “His scientists are the ones that created those damn nano-machines.”

 

Bob nodded. “And now, most of them are dead, including one of the company agents, Electra Ovilo. However, it was determined that she was killed as a result of a botched raid.” Jet was barely listening, his mind running ahead with a horrible suspicion.

 

“There's something else you're not telling me Bob, you didn't call just to share intel on your current investigations.”

 

The ISSP officer sighed heavily, shaking his head. “No, no that's not why I really called… though I think what I have to tell you relates to it.” Jet waited, absently rubbing the ache in his leg. Bob met his eyes. “His body is missing. We were starting to suspect something when both Vincent and Electra's bodies disappeared. I ordered the casket opened…. I'm sorry Jet, I should have told you this months ago.”

 

Jet leaned forward, his fingers tightening on the communicator. “Bob, whose body is missing.”

 

“Spike. Jet, we looked into it. As far as we can tell… he was never buried.”

 

***

 

Faye blinked, taken aback by the question. “I'm, I'm sorry… what?”

 

The man looked at her in what was an attempt at a reassuring smile, and came off as more of a leer. “I apologize, I'm being incredibly rude. Andrew Mathis, it's very good to meet you.”

 

Faye didn't smile in return, nor did she take the hand he held out to her. After a moment he let it drop. Faye pushed herself up against the wall, and Mathis made no attempt to hold her down this time.

 

“What did you mean? What did you mean, how many times have I been sick?”

 

Mathis raised his brows, the unspoken word begging the question.

 

Faye looked down at her hands, shaking her head. “I, I don't know. A couple times I'm sure. I mean, colds go around, I'm sure I must've….”

 

Mathis stared at her intently. “Are you so sure, miss Valentine?”

 

Faye returned his stare, her eyes round in concentration. Mathis smiled at her again, and she jerked when he tapped her knee with one finger. “You haven't caught a cold, gotten the flu, or even had a single sniffle…. have you.” He leaned in closer, pushing her against the wall. “And you never noticed, did you, how quickly you heal from minor injuries, bruises, cuts… burns…”

 

Faye felt the sick fear welling up within her again, coupled with disorienting confusion. She tried to speak strongly, but could only force a stilted whisper.

 

“I don't understand…”

 

“It's simple, miss Valentine. You've been given a wonderful gift, something… very special.”

 

“Immortality.”

 

***

 

“Bob…”

 

“Jet, you must understand, I cannot say anything definitively yet.” Bob glanced to the side, then back at the small screen again. “To be honest with you, we're not completely clear on what's going on…”

 

Jet cut him off with a growl. “Don't give me that crap! You'd never have called if you didn't have something for me! What the hell is going on damn it!”

 

Bob leaned in closer to the monitor, his voice becoming hushed. “It is imperative that this doesn't get out! But, we think, we think that someone is trying to reactivate the nano-machine virus.”

 

Jet sat back. “What? Who is it?”

 

Bob shook his head. “We don't have that information.”

 

“Could it be one of the syndicates? Maybe someone trying to get an edge now that the Red Dragons are out of the picture?”

 

Bob seemed thoughtful. “I don't know… maybe. Look, Jet, I didn't tell you this because I wanted you to do anything about it. I just thought, because he was your partner, that you should know.”

 

Jet lowered his chin to his double fists. “I just don't understand why they'd want Spike's body.” He said softly.

 

Bob gave him a look. “I assume it was because he was in direct contact, not only with Vincent, but the late miss Ovilo as well. In fact, Spike was actually infected with the virus, wasn't he?”

 

Jet's eyes widened, another, horrifying thought occurred to him.

 

“Jet? Jet?”

 

“I'll get back to you Bob.” Jet switched off the communicator, instantly typing in the code to contact Faye.

 

The call wouldn't go through.

 

“Damn it…” Jet muttered, trying again. It was no use; there was no response.

 

***

 

“Immortal?”

 

Faye suddenly jerked back, breaking the mental hold the guy had on her. Shaking her head, she slid to the end of the bed. “Come on.” She said with a forced laugh. “I know I've lived a long time and all, but that hardly classifies me as immortal!”

 

Mathis sat away from her, crossing his legs. “Maybe not in the traditional sense.”

 

Faye's smile faltered. “So, what. You're saying… I'm never going to die?” Far from being elated, Faye felt a leaden horror at the thought. `Live forever, and watch everyone I care for die around me…' she thought, bringing a hand to her lips.

 

Mathis folded his arms. I wouldn't say that exactly. Trust me, if I put a bullet in your heart, you would most certainly die. Your good friend Vincent is evidence of that. However, your body does have an amazing capacity to heal itself. Even injuries that would be fatal for others, you can recover from. Really, about the only thing that seems to kill is major organ trauma like the heart or brain.”

 

Faye blinked. “But, but what about… aren't there other people who…. when we dropped the, the cure… aren't there other people like me?”

 

“There were about forty people infected the day that balloon exploded.” Explained Mathis slowly. “We examined all of them, and none of them have what you have. We aren't completely sure why. The best we can figure is it has something to do with the close proximity you had to Vincent.” He leaned closer to her again. “As it is, you are one of only two people left alive that possess this amazing technology.”

 

Faye frowned. “One of two?” Her brows pulled together. “Who is the other person?”


	6. Chapter 6

Mr. Caulder watched as the woman was interrogated. He had seen the look of amazed fear on her face when she was told of what she carried. Even now, her grasp of what lay within her was feeble at best. Mr. Caulder himself was unsure of the exact properties of the nano-machines; he knew only that what they offered medical science, what they offered _him_ , could not be measured on any scale. The slender man placed a manicured hand against the cool glass of the two-way mirror.

 

She was their greatest hope.

 

***

 

“Damn you! And damn your stupid machines, and damn your stupid immortality bullshit! Now get me the hell out of here!”

 

Mathis stood from his chair, lightly dusting off his jacket. “I think that's enough, miss Valentine…”

 

Faye snarled. “And quit calling me that you bastard! My name is Faye!”

 

Ignoring her, Mathis looked up at the two-way glass above him on the second level. His small earpiece buzzed, and he nodded in acknowledgement.

 

“Miss Valentine, I'm afraid we're going to have to cut this short.”

 

Faye turned at the sound of an opening door. Looking back quickly, she saw Mathis disappear through another exit. Faye leapt to her feet, her hands small fists at her sides. Four people entered the main door. They were all dressed in white. The first two were large men, barehanded and roughly put together. The third individual stood behind them, an oversized restraining coat in his hands. Lastly, a woman entered, striding elegantly and packing a long needle that spouted a quick stream of clear liquid. Faye felt her breath catch painfully.

 

“Hey, I didn't know you guys were into the kinky stuff!” She barely recognized her own voice. She hated herself for the fear she felt within her at the sight of that needle. `What the hell is this, what is going on here!' She thought, looking around desperately for any sort of weapon. Her eyes fell on a stiff clipboard. As the foursome approached, Faye suddenly darted for the small plastic board. Snatching it up quickly, she turned and winged it at the head of the closest person.

 

It struck him squarely on the bridge of his nose.

 

While he grabbed for his face, Faye ran directly into the pack, kicking one guy in the groin while grabbing the wrist of the needle woman and hauling her at the other orderly. The two bodies struck with a dull smack, and Faye used that second of time to deliver a kick to the throat of the man she'd hit with the clipboard. She was just turning to run when something struck her neck.

 

Faye cried out, lifting a hand to find something small and metal sticking in her flesh. She tried to turn, and stumbled drunkenly instead. Falling to her knees, she looked up, and saw Mathis in the doorway, a small rifle in his hands. Faye tried to stand again, but instead felt gravity multiply, forcing her to the floor. By this time, the four goons had recovered. One wrapped meaty hands around her wrists, while another confiscated her ankles. Together, they returned her to the bed.

 

As the paralyzing effects of the drug slipped through her, Faye saw Mathis hand the rifle to one of the burly orderlies. Then, as her vision reduced, he spoke to the woman with the needle. His voice echoed strangely, but Faye could still hear what he said, though the words made little sense.

 

“Take her to the clean room. Have Dr. Wilde run his series on her. I'm curious to see how she matches up against our other guest…”

 

Her eyes slid shut, and yellow butterflies carried her into the void.

 

***

 

There were hands again. They came all the time, touching, poking, cutting. He didn't associate the hands with himself. He couldn't smell, taste, hear, or feel. He was conscious, yet unaware of the activity and breath of the world around him.

 

He didn't know himself.

 

On some level, images wandered through his head, sepia toned watercolors that faded before he could identify the paintings. Everything was without sound. He strained to catch even the tiniest whisper, yet there was nothing. Not even the sound of his heartbeat registered.

 

He wondered, in some detached manner, if this was truly all there was to death. This white void, the empty wasteland where even the chronicles of memory were denied you.

 

Another glint crossed his vision, gone like sparkle of sunlight on water. He felt himself longing for its return. The nothingness was suffocating, he was desperate to draw air into his lungs. He tried to fight, but the lumber that made up his body would not respond. He fought harder, a familiar fear rising in him once more. He had to get out, now, now dammit! As before, the constricting bands closed around him. He could only sit by helplessly as the landslide buried him again, sealing him from escape. Once more, he was left with only one outlet in the wasteland of his mind.

 

He screamed.

 

***

 

Dr. Wilde bent over the enclosed microscope.

 

Perfect.

 

Sample B was reacting just as it had before. The introduction of cells from the alpha subject was causing the same effects as before. He watched the mitosis for about another few minutes. Then, just as before, the division stopped, and the devices became inert. Removing the slide, Wilde made his way to the far door. Before entering, he donned a sealed environment suit. He checked the gauge clipped to his side. Good, there was enough oxygen for three hours. Entering through the doors, he stopped inside the small yellow box outlined on the floor. Behind him, the door automatically slid shut. The lights dimmed, and he felt the suit constrict around him as the air was exchanged. Through another doorway now and stopping again, this time to have his suit sprayed by a double dose of pink fluid; a neutralizing agent that scoured the suit for any contaminants. The next stage removed the fluid, then dried him with a cutting blast of cold air. After this final stage, Wilde could finally enter the clean room.

 

There was only one other individual in the room. Though she didn't wear an environment suit, she was protectively sealed inside a clear, coffin-like structure. Her eyes were closed, her breathing stable. Wilde had been concerned at first, but the once livid bruises on her neck had faded to almost nothing against her pale flesh. Tapping a few buttons on the containment unit, he assured himself that everything was normal.

 

Wilde took a cleansing breath. He had to be absolutely positive he made no mistakes in this next step. With his mind clear, he stepped up to a small knob sprouting from the side of the containment unit. The knob was actually a narrow tube, connected to a stout needle inside the unit. Wilde slipped an empty vial inside the channel, locking it in place with a gentle push. The subject's arm was just beneath the needle's tip. Using the clean gloves mounted beside the needle, Wilde positioned the subject's arm to make sure a vein was exposed. Carefully, he slid the needle into the soft flesh at the crook of her elbow.

 

Excellent. The vial quickly filled with a sample of her blood. In a few seconds, Wilde retracted the needle, taping a patch of gauze over the tiny wound to stop the bleeding.

 

Removing his hands from the gloves, Wilde retrieved the blood sample. On the other side of the room now, Wilde opened a refrigeration unit and selected a shallow dish marked `Alpha 1'. Moving to the counter, he carefully laid out his collection. With practiced movements, he lifted a culture from the petri dish. Placing the culture on a slide, he dripped it with a tiny amount of blood from the vial. Placing the slide under a microscope, he held his breath, then dipped his head towards the lens.

 

***

 

Jet shredded the remains of his cigarette between his large fingers, bits of tobacco and paper dropping at his feet. His inquiry with Bob had been fruitless; the officer had no information on Faye's disappearance, or any other similar cases for that matter. Disposing of the rest of his smoke, Jet stood, feeling his knees pop as he started moving again. He'd definitely been sitting in the Hammerhead for too long.

 

Lifting the hatch of his ship, Jet decided his next course of action would be to attempt to track Faye's location via her communicator. Granted, the device wasn't on, but with any luck the signal was still… “Damn!”

 

Useless.

 

Either the device was destroyed, or she was out of range. Either way, he had no way of finding where she was. Jet found himself remembering what it was like before he'd met Spike. “Nobody to worry about, clean up after, or feed. No whining, complaining, or bullshit. Why the hell did I ever let any of them on my ship…”

 

He rubbed the top of his smooth scalp, concern blurring his features.

 

“Where the hell are you Faye…”

 

***

 

Her head hurt. `Gnnnaaaaayyy… how many times do I have to wake up in a strange place with a headache?' She thought, attempting to rub her pounding brow.

 

Her arms wouldn't move.

 

Faye opened her eyes, and realized they were the only part of her that responded. Sweat broke out on her brow, and sudden terror washed through her. This wasn't like other times she'd been held against her will. Those times, it was either because she owed money… or she was just a bargaining chip. Actually, she'd only had to play that role once as far as she could remember.

 

_“You mean you're really gonna come for me?”_

 

_“It's possible, I've got my reasons, so don't take it personal…”_

 

He's saved her then, but it had only been an afterthought, a means to an end. But this time, there was no debt, there was no demand for ransom. She was a just a thing to her captors, a vessel… a means to an end…

 

Faye tried to bleed calm into her veins, tried to still her wildly beating heart. It was useless, she'd never been the calm, rational type. She wanted to break something.

 

The claustrophobia tightened around her, and her eyes widened in anguish. `This is torture! How the hell am I gonna get out of this one! Jet, Jet are you out there? Do you know what happened to me?' The thoughts in her head were as tormenting as the rest of her situation. Faye would have screamed had she the ability to do so.

 

***

 

Mr. Caulder was at his window again, watching humanity pass beyond the glass. His distorted reflection stared back into the room, a washed out version of himself, translucent and fragile. The moment the sun hid behind a cloud, the ghost vanished.

 

A soft knock at the door.

 

“Come in.” He didn't turn, only listened as the door opened and shut behind him. The sun came out, and a ghost of Andrew Mathis stood behind him.

 

“You have news?”

 

Mathis remained where he was, tugging once at his tie, a miniscule sign of his excitement. Mr. Caulder waited, watching the lives below.

 

Mathis cleared his throat. “It's about the new subject, Faye Valentine.”

 

A flock of birds rose on an updraft of air, shining white in the bright sun. “Yes.”

 

Mathis pulled his tie again, his hands restlessly adjusting his clothes. His voice sounded almost breathless when he finally spoke again. “We have it.”


	7. Chapter 7

_She remembered the first time she saw him. That stupid casino. She thought he was her contact. What a joke! Her real contact was some scruffy little man that wasn't even close to Spike in appearance!_

 

_She remembered when he came to play her table. She'd found it odd, on reflection._

 

_Never once did he look at his cards._

 

_The whole time he played her table, he just… looked at her. His eyes had an expression in them that was so different from the one she came to know. It was… it was as though he was looking right through her._

 

_Like he was really seeing her._

 

***

 

“Sand sand sandy sand! Yeeeeeeeeee hahahahahaaaaaaa!”

 

The high-pitched voice screamed with glee, kicking through the scattered dirt and dried grass on the breakdown lane of the highway. The small dog at her feet would leap at the flying debris, barking loudly as she raised her voice. They made quite a pair.

 

A car was approaching.

 

Ed grinned at the closing vehicle. This was the one!

 

***

 

Chester Biggs shifted into second gear as he crested the hill. Before him, the wide landscape filled his vision. He sighed. He really hated driving. Unfortunately, his father hadn't been too pleased about him crashing the zip craft; so here he was, demoted to something that killed the miles on four wheels.

 

Something was in the road.

 

Chester screamed as the something suddenly manifested itself into a kid. “What the hell… GET OUTTA THE WAY!!” The kid, instead of diving out of the way in terror, grinned manically instead. The bumper stopped two inches from her legs.

 

“WOAH HO!!! Edward has a new car!”

 

Chester was still shaking when his passenger door was yanked open. In a flash, something furry launched itself at him.

 

“YEEEAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

 

He threw his arms up madly, struggling to escape whatever it was. There was a sharp yelp, and suddenly fangs sank into his hand.

 

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

 

“Ein! No no, we must be nice to the man person! He can't drive us if his hand is hurt!”

 

Chester peered over with frightened eyes. A mini maniac with golden eyes was staring at him… one inch from the end of his nose.

 

“Hey mister, can Ed and Ein ride with you in your car?”

 

***

 

**One day earlier**

 

Mathis was pulling at his tie again, and made a conscious effort to quit. The last thing he wanted was to have Wilde privy to his agitation. The service elevator halted with a small jolt, and seconds later, the smooth door slid aside to reveal the first of several rooms that led to the heart of the medical complex. Ignoring the small cameras that recorded his movements, Mathis brushed his hand down his tie one last time, and entered the first set of doors.

 

Ten minutes later, Wilde stood as Mathis entered the lab. Everything looked the same as before. Dull gray walls lined with countless shelves surrounded the room, reflecting back a bit of the light that glowed from overhead fixtures. Several cabinets stood readily at various corners, filled with every possible piece of scientific equipment woolongs could buy. And, of course, the centerpiece of the room; the giant horizontal cylinder. Mathis walked up to the device, peering through the upper half, which was composed of one-inch thick clear poly-substrate. The chamber was filled with thick fluid, in which floated a slender body. Mathis noted that the hair had begun to grow back on the head, which was still bristling with fine needles. The follicles were dark, for the most part, save for a patch near the brow that appeared to be coming in white. For half a second, Mathis thought he saw the eye twitch. When it didn't repeat itself, he wrote it off as a bubble rising to the surface. Dr. Wilde cleared his throat.

 

“I have the preliminary data for Mr. Caulder.” Mathis tilted his head, waiting for the doctor to continue. Wilde glanced down at his pad.

 

“I ran a series on both subject B, as well as C. Not surprisingly, subject B showed the same reaction as before. However, under intermittent electrical pulse, subject C reacted… remarkably. Unlike subject B, which halted its mitosis after 40 replications, subject C, has continued division. In fact, even with the removal of the electrical pulse, the devices are continuing to divide.” Wilde inhaled sharply. “I think this is the one.”

 

Mathis, unaware he'd begun tugging at his tie again, strode to the draped microscope. “Is the slide still there?” Wilde nodded. “Just let me turn on the switch.”

 

Through the bright lens, Mathis watched the activity taking place. After several seconds, he stood away. “Good work Doctor. Mr. Caulder will be very pleased.”

 

Wilde stepped closer to the other man. “Mr. Mathis, about the other subject. I, I think something is going on with him.”

 

Mathis glanced at the distance cylinder. “Oh? Well, that really isn't your concern any longer, is it Doctor. We have the new subject; we really don't need him anymore. Once your study of miss Valentine's blood is complete, and you've confirmed the status of the devices, I'll send someone down the remove the other subject.”

 

“Remove?”

 

“Doctor, this isn't a hospital, or a charity organization. If subject B doesn't have anything to offer, we have no reason to keep pouring woolongs into his care… do we?”

 

Wilde stood still as Mathis turned and left the room, his fingers wrapped around the tip of his tie.

 

***

 

Wilde worked quickly, yet very, very delicately. The wires imbedded in the brain had to be removed in a specific sequence. If he deviated in any way, the subject could die. Sweat ran under his arms and at the small of his back. Even now, he wasn't completely sure if the subject would survive once off life support. His body had been in devastating condition when Wilde had first seen him. Injuries, ranging from gunshot wounds to long gashes that looked like they'd been made by a sword, covered his trim form. The deep slash across his gut had been the worst visually, but it was the gunshot wound to his head that nearly cost him his life. The bullet had entered near the left temple, scraping across the surface of his brain. It had lodged itself deep in his skull. Even after its removal, the damage left by the bullet continued to cause problems for months. Between the hemorrhaging and swelling, Wilde was amazed the man had managed to survive.

 

He was down to the last three wires.

 

Before he could remove the final wires the lungs would have to be started again. Clicking a switch on the side of the chamber, Wilde began draining the fluid that encased the figure. While the viscous substance flowed away, Wilde activated another dial, slowly inflating oxygen into the chest. Weakened from lack of use, the lungs wouldn't immediately take up their work again. Wilde would have to attach a temporary stimulator to encourage the lungs to continue processing the air. With only a puddle of liquid left in the chamber, the body within looked like a discarded rag lying on the floor of the unit. Wilde pulled down a lever, disabling the lock, and slid the cover open with a hiss. Tepid warmth washed out of the chamber. Wilde rubbed at his clouded eyes, ignoring the vapor that rose around him. Quickly attaching the oxygen stimulator, Wilde returned to removing the final wires from the skull.

 

The man lie still on the metal floor. The only sign of life was the chest, rising and falling mechanically with the stimulus of the device attached above his heart. Wilde took a small penlight from his coat pocket, shining it into a hazel eye, and then into an eye tinted the color of red wine. Pleased with the results, Wilde pocketed his light and placed a hand on the man's pulse. It was steady and strong. With time, he would probably wake up on his own.

 

He didn't have time though. Wilde depressed a stimulant into a vein.

 

The reaction was instant.

 

Startled eyes snapped open, staring wildly at nothing. One hand snatched out, lightning fast, and latched onto the edge of Wilde's coat, gripping with knuckles white. After a second, the body relaxed as the initial shock began to fade. The eyes blinked, and turned to look at Wilde. The doctor shook his head at the confusion he saw. “I'm sorry, you won't be able to speak yet. You've been under for quite some time, it affects most of your body's systems. I had to attach a stimulation device to your chest to aid your breathing. If you remove it, you'll suffocate. I did my best to keep your muscles intact with regular stimulus, but you'll find some weakness, and will find walking difficult for a while. You won't be able to eat anything solid for about a week or two either.” While he spoke, Wilde continued checking the man's condition, pinching him several places to check for lividity and sensation. The man jerked sharply when he pinched a particularly sensitive spot. “Good, no real atrophy; lucky you were as healthy as you were. As it was, your diet could have been better.” What sounded like a strangled growl rose from the man's throat. Wilde looked down at him with a small shake of his head. “Don't force it, it will come soon enough.”

 

Kneeling near the man's head, Wilde positioned his arm under his shoulders. “Ok, now for the hard part. I need you to stand.” The man looked at him, startled. Wilde nodded. “I know, and ordinarily I'd be the first to say you should be on bed rest. However, if you lay down in this facility, there are people around who'll make sure you never stand again. Now, at the count of three”

It wasn't as bad as he'd anticipated. The man actually managed to keep his feet for a couple of seconds before dropping to the floor. With persistence, Wilde got him upright again, and propped him against a wall while he went to find a pair of `secondary legs'. Returning, he handed the modified crutches to the man, showing him how to activate the small switch on the sides that would stimulate the muscles of his legs.

 

“I'll get you out of the facility. I'll even give you a few woolongs to get a ride, some food, whatever you need. But we need to hurry.”

 

***

 

The escape, it turned out, wasn't as complicated as Wilde had first thought it might be. It was just a matter of outfitting his patient with an orderly's white coat and pants. With the metal crutches hidden under the pant legs, the man just appeared to be walking with a stiff gait. The small growth of hair on the scalp was enough to cover the scars left by the needles, and the skin color wouldn't even turn a head. Most of the medical staff were hermits, spending so much time indoors, underground, that their skin had been leached of most of its color.

 

Even so, the ride up on the elevator was agonizing.

 

It wasn't until they'd actually exited the building and stood together under the sun that Wilde dared to take a breath. Quickly, he pressed the money card into the other man's hand. “I don't know who you may have out there waiting for you… and I don't want to know. I can't do more for you and remain alive. As it is, my life may already be forfeit.”

 

Wilde looked up into those strange eyes. “But my first duty is that of a doctor. I will not have your death on my hands, not after fighting so hard to save it.”

 

The man stared into his intense gaze, an unreadable emotion crossing his face. Reaching up, he grasped Wilde's palm in a weak handshake. With a nod of his head, he turned away. Wilde watched him as he disappeared into the crowd. With a final, shuddering breath, he returned inside. Time to type up a report, a death certificate for a man known only as Subject B.


	8. Chapter 8

The slender figure stumbled again, falling against the side of a brick building. Lucky for him it was there, he'd have been on the ground otherwise. His hands trembled, and he clenched them together tightly. Sketchy memories fluttered through his newly awakened mind. He grasped a few, but like wind-blown grass blades, they slipped away again. One memory, however, remained sharp; a woman's voice.

 

_“It was all just…a dream…”_

 

A burning ache welled up in his chest, one not associated with his collection of scars.

 

She, this woman, was gone.

 

The man slid down the side of the building, landing heavily on the sidewalk. Various people walked back and forth before him, but none took notice of his demeanor, or his bedraggled state.

 

It was gone.

 

Like a serpent, another memory slithered inside. Eyes, burning with the hunger of a stalking wolf, stared into his own. A voice, laced with malice, snarled venom and demanded his life. Yet, he'd no longer had a life to give.

 

So what did he have now?

 

Tipping his head back, he stared up into the cobalt sky. There were no more answers above than below. If there was a God up there, he apparently found amusement in continuing this tragic comedy. His hands had stopped shaking, and he looked down at his palms. A small patch of skin on the outside edge of both trigger fingers was roughened; the result of firing handguns too many times. He wondered where his weapons were now.

 

A shadow covered him, and he glanced up. An old woman stood over him, holding out a single woolong note. “Go ahead, you look like you could use it.” He grimaced, then smiled abashedly, taking the bill. He started to thank her, but felt his throat tighten, cutting off speech. It made no difference; she'd already vanished into the crowd.

 

Sighing, he gathered his feet under himself. The trip up was a lot harder than the trip down had been. He had to lean against the building for several moments, sweating heavily and panting, while he waited for strength to return to him. Eventually, he pushed away from his support, forcing his wasted limbs to carry him onward.

 

Twenty minutes of struggle found him gasping under the shade of an awning. His thoughts had managed to solidify during his wavering walk, and the sequence of his former life played before him like a scratchy film. There was no sound, for he refused to hear it just now. Instead he saw only the grainy images of people he'd once known, and in a state of drunkenness, would have referred to as friends.

 

His eyes darkened as their faces were replaced by a flash of liquid light, reflections off a length of steel. The eyes that had always seemed cold, even when they were comrades, now glowed with the red anger of insanity. The voice burst in his head before he could stop it.

 

_“Why don't you just DIE!”_

 

He grasped his head, as if doing so could repress the memory. He'd known it was over then. Hell, he'd known it was over that day, that day he'd first seen her. Maybe there'd still been something of optimism in him; yeah, even that late in the game. Three strikes and you're out, right? Strike one; he meets the woman of his dreams. Strike two; the woman of his dreams happens to be the girlfriend of his best buddy. Strike three; his best buddy finds out. A bad situation for anyone, but a lot worse if the people involved happen to belong to a high profile syndicate. Even so, he'd thought, he'd hoped…

 

_“I'm leaving… I want you to come with me…”_

 

Blood and ashes, all that remained of that dream. His eyes tracked the movements on the street. So far, no one had even noticed him. Well, that hadn't changed from before. He'd had a habit of going unnoticed until he wanted to be seen.

 

A burning pain in his gut reminded him that the last meal he could remember eating had probably been a plate of sautéed bell peppers. How many lifetimes had passed since then?

 

He felt in his pocket for the money card, and found the woolong bill instead. Well, shouldn't let that go to waste!

 

Forty-five minutes later, he leaned on one arm against the side of a wall and retched violently. No solid foods, he'd forgotten that, and his intestines now felt like they were crawling into the back of his throat. But, God, those carnitas had tasted so good! His stomach jumped again and he heaved, nearly collapsing with the sudden wave of exhaustion. Pushing away from the wall, he tripped over a crumpled box and nearly lost his footing. He opened his mouth to curse, but the words were high-pitched and reedy. He clenched his teeth instead.

 

With his stomach voided he felt weak, and saw that his hands were trembling again. It had been over an hour since he left the… what had that place been anyhow? Shaking his head, and regretting the motion, he sat down on the box that had nearly tripped him up a few moments ago. An unfamiliar sensation was washing through him while he sat on his box. Always, always before he'd had a goal. Granted, that goal had cost him dearly, but it had been something. Since he'd left the syndicate, all he'd wanted was to recapture that moment of perfection he'd found with her. He never wanted to face down his enemies, had never wanted to meet for that final bloody showdown. Yet, it seemed… he shook his head. He never believed in destiny, fate, or any of that `profound' crap. What happened, happened. And now, it seemed, his survival had happened… again.

 

Why?

 

The question was like a raw wound. What was so important in this existence that kept pulling him back in? There was nothing in this life. Struggle, that's what it was. Life was a series of days; wake up, eat something (if you were lucky), hunt a bounty, smoke a cigarette, take a nap, go to bed. What the hell was the point? What were they trying to get to? In the end, you're just a corpse. Whether it happened now or fifty years from now, what difference did it make?

 

_“I will not have your death on my hands, not after fighting so hard to save it.”_

 

He rubbed his face. Hell of a thing, loosing your voice. Made you think more than was healthy. He'd never been this melodramatic before, it was making him sick… actually, no, it was the carnitas again. Turning just in time, he vomited, coughing dryly before flopping on his side. That's right, life really was worth living.

 

  
***

Chester glanced at the figure beside him. The child had babbled almost nonstop for twenty minutes before grabbing up a strange computer and typing furiously. Returning his gaze to the road, the man sighed nervously. Four hours had passed since he'd picked up his traveling companion, make that `companions', he corrected mentally at the soft woof from the back seat. The only words he'd really comprehended had been the demand that he drive the two to Anchorage, Alaska. When he'd protested, the furry beast in the back had begun snarling, baring its fangs and eyeing up Chester's arm. So, here he was, driving like a maniac towards a distant shore. He studied the sign ahead.

 

**PALMER 36 MILES**

 

Well, not too much farther. Anchorage was the next big stop after Palmer. Once there, he could dispose of his unwanted cargo and get the hell out of here! And if his father wouldn't let him fly the zip craft, he'd walk from now on!

 

***

 

Night cloaked the city in darkness. He awoke to pain gnawing him from the inside out. He bit his lip to hold in a groan, and forced his eyes open. He was lying on that same piece of cardboard he'd collapsed on earlier. Another spasm clenched his gut, twisting like a knife and leaving him breathless. When the agony finally subsided, he pushed himself up on his arms, feeling the fatigue draining his energy away through his fingertips. He realized he was thirsty. He shook his head slowly; thirsty was an understatement. What he was experiencing was closer to drought.

 

Crawling to the wall of a nearby building, he pulled himself up to balance on shaking legs. Hiking up his pants, he adjusted the dials on his leg braces, waiting for a few moments until he felt the artificial strength return. Tentatively, he took a small step. He remained on his feet. With a small measure of relief, he left the alley.

 

As he walked down the street amidst the scattering of pedestrians, he studied the signs and buildings around him, trying to establish where the hell he was. Not Earth, that was obvious by the lack of enormous craters, not to mention the fact that all the buildings were intact. It wasn't Mars; he knew his home planet like the back of his hand. He looked up into the sky, and saw only stars above; nope, not Jupiter either. His face appeared blank, yet behind his eyes, his mind was racing. He thought he knew most of the inhabited planets and asteroids quite well; he'd chased bounties on nearly all of them. He paused outside a sparsely lit establishment. There was no sign on the outside, yet he recognized it for what it was. With any luck, he could get some information inside. If nothing else, he could get something to drink.

 

If possible, it was darker inside than out. The murkiness was accentuated by the mist of dull smoke that floated through the room; it smelled like heaven. The bartended barely glanced at the newcomer, save to take his drink order. He may have quirked an eyebrow at the request for `just water', but made no comment on it as he filled a thick glass to the top. The man took the glass quickly, managing to spill a few drops before pouring the soothing liquid down his throat. He drank two more glasses before finally ordering something that cost more than time. While he drank, he casually observed the bar. Not many people seemed to be out this time of night. Granted, the bar was pretty seedy. There was no music, not even an ancient jukebox. There was little, if any, conversation taking place either. The only activity seemed to be with a group of four men playing cards in the corner. Mismatched eyes returned to the bartender. “Yo.” He said, noticing that his voice seemed less scratchy than before. The heavy-set man tending the bar finished filling a tall glass for another customer before ambling over to the newcomer.

 

“Need another refill?”

 

The stranger shook his head. “This is probably gonna sound really strange, but you see, my buddies decided to play a practical joke on me and strand me somewhere I wouldn't recognize. As it is, I don't even know what planet I'm on!” The bartender was, indeed, giving him an unusual look. No matter. He'd have gotten an even stranger look if he'd told him something closer to the truth. `Yeah, I just woke up after being half dead for who knows how long… and I have no idea where I am!' Oh yeah, that would've been real smooth.

 

He realized the bartender was speaking.

 

“…not be real good buddies if you ask me. In fact, I'd wager they aren't friends of yours at all.”

 

The man looked up in confusion, and the bartender continued. “You aren't on a planet, you're on Pandora. I regret to inform you that you won't be leaving here anytime soon. In fact, unless you have a personal craft in your pants, you won't ever be leaving here.”

 

***

 

After leaving the bar, he made his way to a shabby establishment that appeared to be some sort of hotel. Unsurprisingly, he was one of only three patrons. A sagging woman behind the counter took his money card without a word, extracting a small amount to cover the room before sliding it back to him across the scarred counter top.

 

Once behind the closed door, he stripped off his shirt and sank into the shabby cot that was the only furniture. Just as he was passing to sleep, he noted that the sky was already beginning to lighten outside his greasy window. Then exhaustion took him and he thought no more about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pandora is one of the moons around Saturn. Its revolution is 15hours and 5minutes. It was discovered in 1980, and has no atmosphere. Though it is heavily cratered, for the purposes of this story, it's been terraformed to create livable conditions.


	9. Chapter 9

She was awake.

 

Faye sat up, immeasurably ecstatic to discover she wasn't strapped down. As she looked around, she frowned. Nope, not strapped down, just locked in.

 

“Well, shit.” She muttered, standing wobbly to explore her cell. At least it was a fairly well furnished cell, complete with a reading desk and a few books. Faye lifted a volume, not to check the title, but to see if it was heavy enough to use as a weapon. Slipping the soft-cover back on the shelf, she continued her exploration. When she reached the door of her room, she pressed her ear against the side, hoping to hear anything to indicate where she was. No use, it was either soundproofed, or whatever guards they had out there were really quiet. There was a curtained off area that revealed itself to be a small bathroom. Only the bare necessities were available.

 

As Faye returned to sit on the edge of her bed, she rubbed a sore spot on her arm. Examining the injury, she found a small row of puncture marks just below her left elbow.

 

“Great, I look like a junkie.”

 

A sudden wave of dizziness caught her off guard, and she dropped her head to her hands until the vertigo subsided. Then she clenched her teeth. Faye Valentine was not one to sit idly by while her life was taken out of her control. Standing up again, she returned to the door, hands fisted at her sides.

 

“Hey! Hey you assholes, open up! Let me out of here!!!”

 

***

 

From another part of the facility, Andrew Mathis studied the woman on a small screen. She was screaming again. Had to admire her, she hadn't broken down yet. Dr. Wilde had not been pleased when they'd removed her from his care. Unfortunately, with him losing the other subject, he couldn't be trusted to look after their gold mine. Mathis frowned. He was pretty sure that Subject B hadn't died as simply as Wilde explained in his report. Wilde had a soft spot for his patients; there was no denying it. But he couldn't possibly be stupid enough to risk all their work… Mathis shook his head. Right now, he couldn't be certain about anything.

 

Wilde would bear watching.

 

In the meantime, Mr. Caulder had requested, firmly, that Mathis acquire an update on the new sample. With their viable sources reduced to one living, and two deceased subjects, there was even greater risk to their project. They just couldn't afford any screw-ups at this point. Mr. Caulder had made their situation very clear while Mathis had been with him in the briefing room. If this failed, there was nothing left that they could try.

 

***

 

The door slid open without a sound. The room was muted, like usual, and Wilde sat at his desk, calmly studying a computer simulation.

 

“You ever take a break?”

 

Dr. Wilde jumped at the sudden speech, sitting up to brush his hair out of his eyes sheepishly. “I, uh, guess I was too distracted. Not like I'm tired anyway.” He said, stifling a yawn. Mathis glared at him. “Damn right, we can't afford to have you fucking around! This is game time buddy, what have you got for me?”

 

Wilde shot an irritated look at Mathis before shifting his shoulders and returning to the screen in front of him. “Well, so far so good. It's been twenty-four hours, and the nano-machines are continuing to divide. In fact, I was just going to call you down here, something really interesting happened a minute ago.” Mathis bent over the display as Wilde punched a few buttons. Half a second later, a smaller screen popped up. It was the same as what was displayed on the larger screen; tiny machines trundling through a landscape of hemoglobin. Then Mathis grunted, peering closer. “Did that just…. Back that up, I want to see it again.” Wilde complied, a small grin on his face. The screen jagged, then steadied to run the recording once more. There they were, floating around like little insects…. “There, freeze that.” Wilde hit the still button, and instantly froze the image.

 

“I want a copy of this, as well as a copy of the recording.”

 

Wilde nodded. “You got it.” As he made the duplicates, he glanced up at Mathis, who was still staring at the viewer, mesmerized. “Sir, about Subject C…”

 

“She's out of your hands for now. If you need anything more from her, we'll supply you with access.” Mathis straightened, running a hand down his tie. “Just be glad you're as talented as you are, Dr. Wilde. I'd hate to have to find a replacement with your qualifications.” Taking the reproductions from Wilde's hands, Mathis began to leave. At the door, he paused, not turning around. “If I were you, I'd spend my time worrying about how to keep impressing Mr. Caulder.” Then he was gone. Dr. Wilde waved his hand in front of his face, disgusted by the lingering scent of cologne and aftershave left behind. Leaning back in his seat, he allowed Mathis's parting comments to run through his head. And not for the first time, he found himself questioning whether the opportunity to study such a fascinating breakthrough, was worth risking his life.

 

***

 

Richard Caulder was a wealthy man. By the age of twenty-five, he had managed to rise through the ranks of Mechatronics Incorporated to become one of three partners in the multi-billion dollar company. At thirty-two, he was voted vice-chairman, and at thirty-nine, he took over the entire corporation. He had held that same position now for the past nineteen years. His first step, before he'd even become fully settled as CEO, was to set up a partnership with another corporation with similar goals; Cherious Medical. Together, they had begun radical new research into alternative medicine. The President of Cherious had believed the work to be valuable from the standpoint of saving lives. It was Caulder that convinced him it would be of great benefit to the military.

 

And then they'd discovered the nano-machines.

 

Cherious Medical had wanted to pull out then, but the military stepped in, and insisted the research continue. Caulder had been a strong voice as well, easing nerves and soothing bruised egos. With some reservation, the project went ahead. Three subjects were chosen, initially, for implantation. It was during the early stages of the Titan war, and many soldiers were knowingly, and unknowingly, being experimented on with a variety of drugs and mind-altering devices. The partnership of Cherious and Mechatronics had been behind every procedure that took place.

 

Two of the subjects responded to the insertion of nano-machines as planned. Unfortunately, one of them, a man by the name of Viggo Devlan, became psychotic and tried to attack his commanding officer. The fool, reacting out of fear, had shot Devlan in the head. His body had been left to rot on that wreck of a moon.

 

It was right after the war that Cherious Medical decided to dissolve their partnership with Mechatronics. They had been frightened by the results of the testing that took place. There were too many soldiers who had returned from the war with knowledge of what had been done to them. Even worse, a number of the men became members of high-ranking syndicates. When news came out that a member of the Red Dragon syndicate had been irreversibly altered by one of the procedures, Cherious couldn't distance itself from Caulder fast enough.

 

After the breakup of the companies, the true agony of that separation began to show itself. A war to rival the one on Titan broke out between the two. The core of the battle was deciding who owned which discoveries, personnel, hardware, software, etc.

 

The worst blow, however, came when Cherious Medical demanded all rights to the nano technology; technology they wouldn't have had without Mechatronics. In the end, Cherious won the rights, and the military contract that went with it.

 

It seemed that with this final hit, Mechatronics would fold completely. However, it hadn't gotten where it was with a defeatist attitude. Richard Caulder had poured every last cent he had into saving his company. After several years of hunger, the company slowly began to recover. In a few years, they rebuilt much of the customer base, and earned a number of lucrative contracts. Once the company was stabilized, Caulder made another startling announcement. Having learned from his mistakes, he made the decision to relocate his entire research department to a distant, and secret, location. He hadn't made the decision lightly. This sort of separation could easily have disastrous effects. However, he'd lost valuable technology by being careless in the past, and he had no intention of making the same mistake twice.

 

Ultimately, he'd moved the operation to Pandora, a small moon orbiting Saturn. Pandora had been a difficult choice. Though it was terraformed, it was still a harsh place to live. The days were short, and the distance from the sun left the planet cold. Without the protection of the atmospheric shield, the moon would have been out of the question. As it was, it seemed fairly hospitable at first glance. The habitable area was small, but fairly well supplied. There were shops, homes, and even a few tiny parks. Never the less, when night fell, nobody remained on the streets. Because of its distance from the more popular moons and planets, the ISSP never patrolled Pandora. A plethora of criminals and fugitives had made their homes here amidst the few civilized people crazy enough to choose to settle among them.

 

Crime was a constant.

 

Because of the reputation it earned in so short a time, the military had, finally, stepped in. All traffic to and from the moon was highly restricted. Only those with a special pass could hope to land on or leave Pandora. Richard Caulder was one of those people. For six years he worked on Pandora, creating the perfect research lab with the best possible equipment and personnel money could buy. He'd been particularly delighted to acquire the brilliant researcher Christopher Wilde, whose work had been published in a number of scientific journals. Caulder had lost no time in wooing him to work for him. It was just in time too. Six months after hiring Wilde, Vincent Volaju had reappeared among the living. Caulder had been rabid to bring him in. He'd even hired someone to get close to him, to act as a contact. Unfortunately, the guy had blown his cover somehow, and Vincent had stuck a knife into him. As if things weren't complicated enough, Cherious Medical decided they wanted to protect their investment. Their real motivation was to keep Vincent out of the grasp of Mechatronics. However, this time, they lost. When Vincent died with a bullet in his chest, Caulder's people had been right there to scoop him up. For months, the researchers, Wilde in particular, had tried to re-animate the nano-machine's in Vincent's blood…. without success. When they acquired Electra Ovilo, they tried again, and failed again. Wilde insisted they needed a living subject. Caulder knew about Spike Spiegel's interaction with Vincent. He knew he'd been infected, and that he'd been cured by exposure to an antidote created from Electra's blood. They'd kept an eye on Spiegel from that time on.

 

Not many months later, Spiegel had made his move on the Red Dragons. When they brought him in, shot, stabbed, covered in blood…. and still breathing, Caulder knew.

 

They'd begun testing immediately.

 

Caulder rubbed a weathered hand over his face. Revisiting the past had a purpose; it reminded you of what you'd accomplished… but it also reminded you of what you'd lost. He'd intentionally kept his mind on only the work. Now, though, he allowed another memory to surface. Soft, pink skin, fine dark hair, flashing eyes. An ache built in his chest, and he had to bite down on his knuckle to suppress the sob that tried to tear itself free from him. His breath hitched, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the sting. In a moment, the worst pain subsided. Taking a handkerchief from his breast pocket, he dabbed at the corners of his eyes, erasing the visual testimony to his emotions. Why was it the memories that were most important to him were also the ones he found the hardest to dwell on? Another wild memory skipped across his mind.

 

_He was holding a hand, tiny, yet perfectly formed. His steps were slow, to allow his traveling companion to keep pace with him. Then, the hands reached up, begging. Richard bent to the little person, lifting him in his arms. The tiny hands patted his cheeks joyously, chubby fingers spread wide. Grey eyes sparkled with joy, and a little mouth spread wide to laugh. Four teeth had made their homes in pink gums. A fifth was showing, but hadn't come in quite yet. Richard held the child close, inhaling the fresh-washed smell of his baby skin. “Do you know how much your Daddy loves you Ethan?” The child simply giggled, waving his arms as he was spun in the air…_

 

Setting his face, Mr. Caulder tucked his handkerchief back in his pocket. Returning the memories to their proper files, he walked from the room, closing the door firmly behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

His feet ached in his heavy boots. He wanted nothing more than to sink them, bare and knee deep, into the icy water of the bay. However, his stinging concern about a certain loud-mouthed crewmember overcame the discomfort. Jet pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers. How? How had he reached this point? Almost continuously he'd been asking himself that same question.

 

***

 

**3 years and six months ago:**

 

  
_When Jet Black left the ISSP, he'd worked completely solo. It had been lonely at first, no denying it. Not only had he left behind a partner at work, he'd also been left behind by a_ _woman he'd loved. Cruising the stars in that beat-up ship had certainly been an adventure, no denying it._  


 

_The first few bounties he brought in had been small-time, practice till he felt surer about what he was doing. As a cop, he'd always had the back up of his partner, as well as the resources of the ISSP. Once he became freelance though, he had only himself to depend on. Once he became accustomed to soloing it, he moved on to better prey. The ship was in continuous need of maintenance, and it took nearly all his resources to keep her flying._

 

  
_Then, one day, a bounty came in for a guy known only as Sabre. The bounty on the guy was substantial, and Jet set out immediately to beat the other bounty hunters to the prize. He found him on Neptune, hiding out in one of the smaller bars. He hadn't looked like much when Jet first ran into the guy. In fact, he seemed on the scrawny side. With infinite patience, the ex-cop approached his target; who sat in a stool with a drink before him. With a heavy hand, Jet tapped on his shoulder. “Hey bud, can you spot me a_ _smoke?” Sabre turned, and the look he sported was icy cold. “I ain't your bud, and get your hand off my shoulder.” Jet felt a touch of disquiet at the toneless voice, but shook it off with chuckle. “No problem, sorry to bother you pal.” Jet stepped away, lifting his gun in the same motion. “Hands where I can see em' Sabre!” The moment drew out as Sabre lifted his glass, taking a long swallow. He set the glass on the bar with a hollow clunk. Without turning, Sabre tilted his head up, looking at Jet's reflection in the smoky mirror behind the bar. “You a good shot with that thing?” Before Jet had even formulated a response, Sabre was off the stool, weapon in hand. Jet flattened as Sabre fired off three rounds in quick succession. Then, the bounty was out the door, spraying cover fire as he ran. Growling, Jet darted after him, holding close to the walls and keeping his head down._  


 

_Peering around a corner, he ducked again as three bullets tore the brickwork from the edge of the building. Clenching his teeth, Jet cursed and darted forward, body hunched as he made for the next spot of cover._

 

_That spot of cover was already occupied._

 

_Jet flinched as he almost ran into the man hanging out in the shadows. “Gah, hey, outta the way!” He growled as he squeezed against the wall. The man merely turned his head, a burning cigarette dangling from his thin lips. “Huh?” He murmured around the burning stick. Jet looked around sharply for his bounty, but the guy seemed to have vanished. “Damn it!” He cursed, kicking the wall with a heavy boot. The other man ignored his outburst, choosing instead to hold out something to the fuming ex-cop. Jet paused his tirade to examine what was being offered him. With a weary smile, he took the proffered cigarette._

 

_“Thanks.”_

 

_The other man only grunted, staring at the smoke that rose from the end of his lips. After a few moments of quiet between them, Jet held out his hand._

 

_“Jet Black.”_

 

_The other man shook his hand firmly. “Spike.”_

 

_Jet chuckled. “No last name?”_

 

_Spike smiled a little. “Sometimes.” Crushing his spent cigarette under a heavy shoe, Spike looked over Jet's shoulder. “I think your friend is back.”_

 

_“Uhh?” Jet turned quickly, spotting Sabre dart across an open patch, making for the landing pad beyond. Jet spit his cigarette onto the ground, hefting his gun. “Damn, of course he's headed for his ship!” Without another word, he ran after his bounty._

 

_Sabre's ship was an old-style monopod, revamped with advanced thrusters and boosters. If he reached his ship, Jet would never catch him._

 

_The sound of the ship start-up was nearly deafening. Jet squinted as he rounded the corner, receiving the full blast of the ship's lights in his eyes. His quick jump to the side saved his life, but didn't prevent the sudden shot from creasing a line of fire across his thigh. Grunting, Jet pressed against the building, holding his leg with one hand and his gun with the other. Three more shots came his way, chipping masonry from the wall above his head. Crouching, Jet listened. The ship's engine's rose to a new level, and Jet realized it was preparing to take-off. He hefted his gun and darted around the building again. And realized his mistake too late._

 

_“Son of a bitch, he had a remote start…”_

 

_Sabre was right in front of him, gun cocked. As soon as Jet came around the corner, Sabre fired… and missed._

 

_Jet ducked instinctively, expecting a bullet, but feeling nothing. He looked up to see Sabre bending over, holding a bleeding hand. His gun lay a few feet behind him on the ground._

 

_“What in the hell…?”_

 

_“Thought you should know, he pulled that same trick on Venus about a year ago.” The voice was behind him, and belonged to…_

 

_“Spike?”_

 

_The taller man tucked his gun in his pants and calmly walked up to Sabre. The other man stared, a look in his eyes like he was trying to remember something. Recognition came in a flash._

 

_“You're, you're… you were dead! What is this!?”_

 

_Sabre tried to back away from the advancing Spike, but stumbled over his weapon and landed hard on his backside._

 

_Spike looked down at him, flicking the butt of his cigarette into the dark. “You and I have unfinished business.”_

 

_Sabre shook his head. “No, no way, no way- you're dead!”_

 

_“You should know the dead always demand their due, Sabre.” Spike grabbed the frightened man by his lapels. “The bounty on you is gonna go a long way towards paying for what you did to me.”_

 

_Jet stiffened. “Now wait just a minute! This is my bounty!” He limped towards the other two men, gun partially raised._

 

_Spike looked over his shoulder. “The way I see it, I'm the one who took this guy down. In fact, you'd be dead if I hadn't stepped in when I did.”_

 

_Jet fumed. “You obnoxious asshole! I didn't ask for your help, and I didn't need your assistance! Now back off before I arrest both of you!” Jet paused in his tirade as he realized what he'd just said. “Urrrhhh.” He grumbled, rubbing his face with a heavy hand. Finally, he looked up again._

 

_“Look, this is ridiculous. I don't feel like spending the night arguing over this scum like two dogs on a bone. What do you say about splitting the bounty?”_

 

_Spike frowned, then looked off contemplatively. “Hm.”_

 

_Jet shifted on his wounded leg. “It's still a lot of woolongs, even halved.”_

 

_Spike sighed, pulling Sabre to his feet. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” As he led the bounty from the landing area, Jet tied a quick knot around his leg with sleeve cut from his jacket. “Great. I'm ready to get off this damn planet!”_

 

 

_Half an hour later, the two hunters stood outside the ISSP building stationed on the planet. Spike shoved his money card in his pocket after a quick glance. Jet rubbed his balding head. “Thank God that guy's off our hands.” Glancing at the other man, he leaned his arms on a railing, propping one foot up on the lower rail._

 

_“You know, you were really good back there. How long you been a bounty hunter anyhow?”_

 

_Spike flicked open his lighter, holding it to the end of his cigarette till it caught. “About three days.” He answered nonchalantly. Jet started, looking at him in surprise._

 

_“Three days? You're kidding!” Shaking his head, he pulled out his own cigarette. They stood in silence for a time, thinking their own thoughts as the blue smoke rose about them. Finally, Jet turned to the other man. “Listen, I don't know a lot about you, other than the fact that you seem to be a crack shot. And you don't know anything about me other than my name…”_

 

_Spike glanced over. “This is starting to sound like a job offer.”_

 

_Jet stopped, then smiled slightly. “Heh, yeah, I guess it is.” He turned to face the other man. “Well, what do you say?”_

 

_Spike blew out a stream of smoke, watching while it faded to nothing in the night air. Finally, he stuck his hands in his pockets. “Sure. I just gotta pick up my mono-racer.”_

 

_Jet grinned. “Great. My ship is the Bebop. She's at dock twenty-five.”_

 

_Spike grunted, turning towards the ship port. Then, after about three steps, he stopped. “Hey, uh, Jet?”_

 

_The older man turned. “Yeah?”_

 

_“It's just the two of us, right?”_

 

_Jet's brows pulled together. “Yeah… why?”_

 

_“No pets?”_

 

_“No.”_

 

_“Kids, wife?”_

 

_“Are you kidding?”_

 

_Spike turned, smiling. “No problem.”_

 

_Jet chuckled as he watched he other man stride away. “Welcome aboard kid.”_

 

 

Jet frowned at the memories. Now was not the time for reminiscing; now was the time to find out what the hell had happened to his current partner. She was out there somewhere. Someone knew what had happened to her.

 

And, by God, Jet was gonna find that person and beat that knowledge out of them.

 

“I'll find you kid. I promise you that.” Grimly, he crushed his last cigarette and returned to the Bebop.


	11. Chapter 11

Filtered light cascaded into the room, highlighting the dust motes that swirled in the air.

 

A figure stood in the creases of shadow that fell around him.

 

He held his hands at his sides, loose and pliable. With a sudden thrust, he jabbed at the air, his hands forming fists. Turning swiftly, he executed a sharp kick… and crumpled to the floor with a muffled grunt.

 

He stayed there a moment, waiting for the pain to leave his muscles. When the tingling subsided, he pushed himself up on his hands and slid against the wall. He glared at the legs braces on the other side of the room.

 

He loathed his dependence on them.

 

His head tipped back against the wall. Staring at the ceiling, he found himself doing something he'd never imagined he would do; contemplate his future.

 

He wouldn't be making a home here, that was a given regardless of the circumstances.

 

Where the heck could he go?

 

_“You aren't on a planet, you're on Pandora. I regret to inform you that you won't be leaving here anytime soon. In fact, unless you have a personal craft in your pants, you won't ever be leaving here.”_

 

Damn.

 

Aside from the money card, there was nothing in his pockets. He suddenly realized he was aching for a cigarette.

 

Opting to remain against the wall a while longer, he closed his eyes. Ever since he woke up, his vision had been bothering him. It was his artificial eye; it no longer interpreted the world around him in the same way anymore. Instead, it saw everything in shades of gray. The idea actually amused him a little; or would have if he weren't so damn tired.

 

His head tipped back, his breath coming in even beats as he began to dream.

 

Maybe because of his recent thoughts, his mind wandered back in time. The dream became a memory, and he was the star attraction.

 

_Agonizing pain, exploding fire across half his face. The sound of gunshots, his body striking the ground as a ship passed by overhead._

 

His head moved as the memories leapt forward in time. His own voice was speaking,

 

_“Thought you should know, he pulled that same trick on Venus about a year ago.”_

 

All it had taken was one mistake. One mistake, and his life was permanently altered. Before he'd lost his eye, he'd been pretty easy-going. That hadn't changed much, but his outlook on the future had. Mao had talked to him about taking over the Dragons. The prospect had definite merit. There were a lot of perks to being a powerful and feared leader. They never made an agreement of it, never shook hands or signed any papers. It was just… an understanding.

 

That changed when Spike was sent to Venus to collect on an unpaid tab.

 

Spike opened his eyes.

 

One eye saw color, and one saw the world like a faded photograph. Grimacing, he pushed himself wearily to his feet. Biting his lip, he attached the leg braces, hating the relief that flooded him as his muscles ceased shuddering. He hated dependence; another reason why he hadn't bought himself a pack of cigarettes yet. If he _needed_ them, he refused to buy them.

 

Sticking his hands in his pockets, Spike strode to the door. At this place, rent was paid on a daily basis, and his was due in ten minutes.

 

***

 

The strong, cold hand wrapped around the scrawny neck. Small, rat-like eyes bulged like shiny marbles from a withered face. Jet leaned in on his victim.

 

“I'll ask again, nice like. Where did they go?”

 

The man twisted his head, but the hold on his neck prevented him from biting again in a manner that was just as rat-like as his appearance. A reedy voice cracked through the air.

 

“I- I'm, uh telling you bud, I ain't seen where they did get to, hear? I was jus' mindin' my bidness hear?”

 

Jet growled, resisting the urge to throttle the man senseless.

 

“You were here, at the docks, the same time my friend decided to take a walk near them. She would have been hard to miss. Now what did you see damn it!”

 

The ratty man shivered under the heavy glare.

 

“Nothin! Nothin, guy! Jus' some fellas in suits and one big fella in a big suit is all!”

 

Jet leaned even closer. “And??”

 

“And they, they, grabbed some gal dressed like some night lady, dig? An' they then busted ass outta here, see?”

 

Jet's eyebrow twitched. “Did you happen to see which way they went?”

 

***

 

Eyes watched from the shadows, lurking in the darkness, friends to the hidden places. The sound of water lapping against a distant hull was mesmerizing.

 

The eyes flicked to the side as a new sound was heard.

 

Someone was approaching.

 

There was a heavy, echoing boom as something came to rest on the deck outside. There was a break of silence, them a sharper clank sounded. A door was being opened somewhere above.

 

The eyes brightened, and the sharp edge of a tooth gleamed in the soft light.

 

Footsteps now, thudding above, moving closer, closer.

 

The door across the hall slid open.

 

Time to attack.

 

“YEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!”

 

Jet nearly swallowed his tongue.

 

“Guahhhhh!! What in the hell!!??”

 

Something thin and wiry wrapped itself around him like a snake.

 

“Aahh! Ghaaah, E- Edward?”

 

The flame-haired girl grinned at him manically.

 

“YEEEAAAYYYYY! JET PERSON IS BACK, COME HOME TO EDWARD!!!!!!!”

 

Jet stared in disbelief. “Ooohh man, you have got to be kidding me.”

 

***

 

Her hands hurt.

 

How long had she beaten on that door? She had no idea, seemed like hours.

 

Least she wasn't handcuffed this time.

 

Faye almost smiled at that thought. How many times had she been either handcuffed or tied up? Several, especially since hooking up with the Bebop crew.

 

Huh, some crew. A maniac child hacker, a used-up cop with one arm and a bonsai fixation, a super smart dog, and… and… a walking dead man.

 

Faye sighed. Yeah, some group. And yet, they always came for her… even when she didn't ask them to. Well, almost always came for her. That time with Vincent, she'd kinda had to get out of that on her own. Still, in some weird way, she supposed that meant they cared. Ok, sure, when Spike saved her from Vicious, he'd made it clear it had nothing to do with her. And when Jet pulled her out of Gren's apartment, it wasn't like she'd really been in danger. Granted, Gren had been in contact with Vicious…

 

Vicious.

 

It always came back to him didn't it? Vicious and Spike.

 

Both of them were dead now.

 

Faye bit her lip, stilling the slight tremor. `Damn it, I will not cry for that bastard!'

 

The emotion melted away, leaving behind the familiar emptiness. Emptiness she could deal with. It was nothing new after all.

 

She laid back on her bed, deciding a nap would be better than nothing, and might help erase some of the pain within her. Her eyes closed as she tried to push Spike from her mind. Her last conscious thought almost made her smile. `Count on me to always bet on the losing horse.'


	12. Chapter 12

The tapping of keys created a feeling of strange nostalgia.

 

Jet couldn't stop staring at the girl. She had actually grown a little since he'd seen her last, though she was just as wiry as before. She also claimed it was her birthday… her second of the year apparently, for they'd celebrated one for her two weeks before they'd gone to Earth… Jet paused, shaking his head. Well, she was either fourteen or fifteen depending on how you looked at it. Ein barked, the other half of the equation, sitting there bold as day. His fur was looking a bit unkempt, but little else had changed. Ed giggled at something on her computer, her fingers never ceasing their movement. It was incredible. Here he was, thinking he'd lost the last of his crew, and suddenly he's saddled with two characters he never thought he'd see again.

 

“Jet person, Faye-Faye not gone!”

 

“Huuhhgh?” Jet sat up, wondering if the child had developed the ability to read his mind. He rested his elbows on his knees. “I don't know where Faye is. Nobody here seems to have seen anything.”

 

Ed giggled again. “Faye-Faye not here! Gone, gone to a distant wooorldd!!!” She cried, raising her voice dramatically. Jet scratched his eyebrow. Trying to understand Ed could sometimes be as complicated as flying a toaster.

 

“Ed, what are you babbling about?”

 

Ed actually paused her typing to look up at Jet through the lenses of her goggles. “Faye- Faye was taken away! Ed found sneeaaky evidence! See?”

 

Jet peered over Ed's shoulder and stared at the computer screen. At first, he wasn't sure what he was looking at. It was video clip of some kind, but the quality was poor. It looked like it had been recorded from a security camera. A haze of static passed across the screen, and Jet squinted, as though it would help him see through it better. “Ed, what is this?”

 

“Shh, watch, watch!”

 

The static cleared, and Jet gasped.

 

***

 

The young man breathed softly under the white sheet. His hair was a dark ashy brown, and fell in gentle waves about his face. When open, his eyes were gleaming orbs of pewter touched with gold, and framed by thick lashes. But his eyes had not opened in three years. Skin that once was deeply tanned had grown pale. Hands that had once been strong were now limp, and lay by his side. The room he was in was fantastic, adorned with luxuries that most people could never dream to own. The windows were large, and light was allowed to pour through them. However, no amount of light could remove the somber feel of this room. In contrast to the opulence on every side, the bed that held its single occupant was like a giant metal spider. Devices of every kind pumped fluids, monitored brain activity, controlled temperature, restricted muscle degradation, and kept the body alive by feeding it liquids and oxygen at regular intervals. In spite of this, there was no life. Had the doctors had their way, the man would have been buried and mourned over two years ago.

 

But the doctors didn't know everything.

 

There was a movement, and a hand rose to caress the smooth forehead.

 

“I almost don't dare hope… but, but I think we may actually have something this time. The new subject… she might just be the key…”

 

A quiet knock interrupted the fevered words.

 

Mr. Caulder rose to his feet. “Come in.”

 

The slender form of Mathis slid into the room, silent as a shadow. “I'm sorry sir, I don't mean to disturb you.”

 

Caulder gestured for them to retreat to the balcony. Once outside, the older man nodded his head. “You have an update?”

 

Mathis smoothed his tie. “They've just finished phase one of the tests. The initial results look very good. Dr. Wilde assures me we can expect phase two trials to start as early as tomorrow.”

 

Caulder's face remained stone smooth as he stared out over the city. “And the subject, how is she?”

 

Mathis shrugged. “They've moved her out of the lab, as per your instructions. I still don't quite understand…”

 

Mr. Caulder turned. “It's not for you to understand, just obey.” He turned to the distant vista again. “What of the other subject, B? Have any more tests been conducted on him?”

 

Mathis tugged at his tie, shifting his feet minutely. “I'm sorry to report, Subject B died late last night. As you know, his injuries were quite severe… he never fully recovered.”

 

Mr. Caulder looked at his hands. He seemed lost in thought, and Mathis was about to speak when the older man looked up. “Thank you for your report, you may leave.”

 

Closing his mouth smartly, Mathis dipped his head and exited.

 

Remaining behind on the balcony, Caulder rubbed one hand over his eyes. Clenching his teeth, he put his back to the view and returned inside.

 

***

 

Spike lifted his eyes to the sky. For a moon, the view wasn't too bad… till you looked down. Sighing, he pushed through the double doors of the bar. The interior was dusty, as were the men occupying the place. A few eyes swiveled his way, but most of the clientele followed the local practice of `mind your own business'.

 

The bartender was filling a glass when Spike leaned against the bar. As soon as he was finished with his current customer, the bartender threw his cleaning rag over his shoulder and walked over. “Help you?”

 

Spike, remembering his sensitive digestion, passed on the whiskey and asked for a beer instead. In moments, the cool glass was set before him. Spike took a tentative sip, spilling a couple of drops on the rough surface of the bar. Hunkered over his drink, he rubbed his hand over his chin, grimacing at the prickly stubble. The near silence in the bar was unnerving. Granted, it was the middle of the day, and there were very few people inside…

 

Spike looked up as another customer entered, brushing a layer of dust from his shaggy hair. “Barkeep, set me up!” He announced as he strode to the bar. Unsmiling, the man behind the counter grabbed a tall glass and filled it with a heavy ale. Apparently the guy was a regular. “Thank you my good man!” Said the customer with a grin. He hefted the glass, peering through the rising bubbles. “A fine brew as always my friend!” The barkeeper grunted, shaking his head. The other customers in the bar kept to themselves, obviously used to the loud man. Not getting the attention he was striving for from the harried barkeep, the customer turned his attention to the only other person at the bar… Spike.

 

“Hey, how's it going pal? Name's Hollis, Bill Hollis.” He stuck out a calloused and meaty hand. Spike shook it, squinting at the too firm grip. Pulling his hand free, he shook it to bring back the feeling. He realized Hollis was speaking to him.

 

“… ill some time while I waited for the shipment to arrive so I decided to stop in here.”

 

Spike nodded, which was obviously encouragement for Hollis to continue… which he did with exuberance.

 

“Man, you'd think we were the hub of the universe with all the shipments I got coming in these days!”

 

Grunting, Spike took another sip of his beer. After several seconds, he realized Hollis wasn't speaking anymore. Glancing over, he saw that the other man was studying him closely.

 

“You know, I can't recall seeing you here before… you're new here, aren't you?”

 

Spike raised his brows. “Why would you say that?”

 

Hollis smiled. “Well, first off, you look like someone who just escaped from a refugee camp,” Spike nearly choked on his sip, “and, second, you're trying to chug down that swill that Barney over there tries to pass off as beer. Nobody here drinks that crap.”

 

Barney the barkeep half-smiled at Hollis, but made no comment.

 

“So, tell me I'm wrong.”

 

Spike set down his glass, swiveling to rest his back against the bar. “Nope, got it in one.”

 

Hollis grinned. “Boy, you must have something you're running from to park your ass all the way out here!” Still laughing, Hollis ordered another round, plus one for Spike.

 

Twenty minutes later, Spike was surprised to find himself still talking to the older man. It wasn't normal for him. However, there was something, something, painful… about the thought of going back to that dried up hotel room. The conversation wasn't intense, just comments on the weather and the people Hollis knew. He shared about himself freely, talking about his business at the, as he put it, `best, and only, shipping-receiving facility on Pandora.' Nor did Hollis pressure Spike for details about himself. Instead, he did most of the talking. Ordinarily, Spike would have found some way to slip away quietly from such conversation… like faking a heart attack or something. This time, though, there was something so… welcome, about listening to the guy talk. Maybe he reminded Spike of Jet. Maybe the bounty hunter was feeling lonely. `Nah', he thought, `It's probably just whatever residual drugs are still running through my system.'

 

About that time, Spike's stomach decided to remind him that beer was no substitute for food. Even Hollis stopped talking as he heard the rumble. Smiling sheepishly, Spike gestured for his tab.

 

“Guess it's time for me to head on outta here.” He said, standing, slightly wobbly, to his feet.

 

Hollis stood as well, instinctively reaching out to steady Spike on his feet.

 

“Thanks.”

 

Hollis nodded, waiting while Spike paid for his beers.

 

As the young man turned to go, Hollis held out his hand. “Wait.” Spike paused, watching as Hollis rubbed the back of his thick neck. Bill looked up at him, seeming to debate what he was going to say. Spike was just about to start walking again when Hollis spoke.

 

“Listen, I know you really have no idea who I am. Hell, I have no clue as to who you are… but… you want to come over for supper?”

 

The Déjà vu made Spike dizzy for a second.

 

_“Listen, I don't know a lot about you, other than the fact that you seem to be a crack shot. And you don't know anything about me other than my name…”_

 

Spike smiled. “Why not?”

 

Hell, a free meal was a free meal.

 

***

 

Jet stared, trying like hell to suppress the sudden tightness in his chest.

 

Ed replayed the video, per Jet's instructions. He leaned close to the screen as the action played. The images were small, grainy, and shot through with ribbons of static. But he could see figures. He could recognize them.

 

The camera showed a man in a long coat running across the rooftop of the Red Dragon's headquarters. He was firing a pair of guns, dodging shots from the syndicate members. A bullet hit his shoulder, spinning him around. He kept his feet… somehow, and continued with deadly purpose. An explosion whitened the screen for a moment, and when it cleared, the rooftop was shambles. The syndicate men had backed off, and now the lone gunman stood facing only one other adversary.

 

The two exchanged blows, one with gun, and one with sword. The fight was fierce, and very short.

 

The man with the sword fell.

 

The other man, wearing the long coat, hesitantly began walking down the long flight of stairs. His stubborn will was the only thing keeping him upright at this point.

 

Halfway down, the man looked up. His face was pretty clear from this angle, Jet recognized the expression. Though he couldn't hear any audio, Jet knew what the man said. Then, with terrible finality, the stubbornness bled away, and the strong legs folded.

 

Jet rubbed his eyes, disturbed at the moistness he found there. He looked over at Ed. “Run the…” he paused to clear the roughness from his throat. “Run the video forward to 7999.886.”

 

Ed complied, and the figures on the feed suddenly began zipping around like insects… all but the man on the stairs. When the video reached the desired point, Ed returned it to the normal speed. The syndicate members were beginning to split up. They were seeing to the wounded members who were still alive. A couple went up to the body at the top of the stairs.

 

Nobody went near the figure in the long coat.

 

Suddenly, off to the side, there was a blaze of light as a ship burst on the scene. Already shell-shocked syndicate men ran as the lead ship laid down a scattering of cover fire. In moments, the roof was cleared.

 

A dozen figures in black outfits jumped to the roof, making a beeline to the stairs.

 

They grouped around the body for a few seconds, then turned, rushing back to the second ship. The body was with them.

 

Moments later, they were gone.

 

Ed stopped the video, and Jet leaned back, his eyes raw. A blistering emotion was running through him.

 

“Black suits…”

 

Ed glanced over questioningly as Jet muttered, half under his breath.

 

“He said, she was taken by men… in black suits…”

 

His eyes burning with intensity. He turned to Ed, putting one hand on her shoulder. “You knew this had something to do with Faye… didn't you.”

 

The girl shrugged, for once at a loss.

 

Jet turned introspective again. He was once a cop, dammit! Wild leaps like this were the sort of thing he'd trained AGAINST doing! The process of investigation was methodical. You looked at all the facts, all the clues. You build a picture of what was the most likely scenario based on the evidence in hand.

 

Jet sighed. But he was lying to himself if he denied gut reaction. Any cop walking a beat would tell you that gut instinct had saved his or her life at least once.

 

Still, just because men in black suits had taken Spike's body, didn't mean they were the same men in black suits that had accosted Faye. Besides, even if they were, it didn't answer the question of… why?

 

“Ed, play that part where the ships first appear again.”

 

“Okay-dokey spaghetti-okey!”

 

She hit a few keys, and the video began to play two seconds before the ships burst on the scene.

 

“Okkaaayy.. stop, there!”

 

The video stilled. Frozen in space, one of the ships filled half the screen.

 

“Ed, can you enlarge it at all, bring out some of the details maybe?”

 

“Edward is on the job!!” The girl tapped furiously, slowly pulling the image from its bed of static. Smart programming aided the hacker in identifying certain parts of the ship that had been obscured by camera distortions, but not everything could be identified. Jet leaned closer to the screen. “Can you clear it up any more?”

 

“Ed tried, the camera was too staticy.”

 

Jet nodded. “It's ok, you did good Edward.”

 

The girl beamed as Jet continued to study the ship, looking for any markings that would identify it. Near the edge of the image, right where it went out of frame, there seemed to be… a line, or a mark. It could be a word…

 

“Can you move it forward, frame by frame?”

 

Ed complied, and the ship jerked in a stop-motion fashion as it progressed forward.

 

“There, stop it.”

 

Most of the side of the ship was visible now. Though still distorted, Jet was able to read most of the word.

 

“Machatron… damn, what's the rest of that word…”

 

Ed began typing again, her fingers flying over the keys. A smaller screen opened up in the lower corner of the computer. It was a file image of an older man.

 

“Who's that?”

 

Ed hit a few more keys, opening up a data file.

 

“Richard Caulder. Entrepreneur and president of… Mechatronics!”

 

Ed grinned.


	13. Chapter 13

Ed was sleeping, a snoring Ein by her side. In the dim light, the only sound was the rickety fan spinning swiftly, sending down a soft breeze. The large man sat on the couch, elbows on his knees and a cigarette burning between his teeth. The good news was that he now had a fairly good idea where Faye had been taken. Ed had managed to locate the testing site for Mechatronics. The bad news… it was on Pandora. Only ships with the proper clearance were allowed anywhere near that moon. Even then, you were required to jump through a lot of hoops; and Jet's connections at ISSP were not that good.

 

Frustrated, the ex-cop stood to his feet. He needed more information, a lot more.

 

Kneeling by the sleeping girl, Jet prodded her side with one finger. “Hey, hey Ed, you awake?”

 

“Neeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh….” She muttered, a dopey smile stretching her face as she rolled on her back.

 

“Damn it Edward!” Jet grabbed her shoulders and hauled her upright, setting her before her computer. “Come on, wake up!”

 

Ed sagged bonelessly before Tomato, giggling, her eyes still shut. As Jet reached over to grab her goggles from the floor, the girl flopped on her side, twitching once. Grumbling, Jet fitted the goggles over her face. Then, propping her up again, he reached out and flicked Ein in the ear, waking the dog instantly. “See what you can do with her.”

 

Barking once, Ein jumped in Ed's lap, licking her face enthusiastically.

 

“Weeeheeeheeeheeeeeeeee!!!” Ed snapped awake, jumping up to spin with Ein. Unfortunately, her goggles were still attached to the computer, and she snapped back to the ground with a THUD.

 

Jet bent over her anxiously. “Hey, kid, you ok?”

 

Ed grinned up at him. “A, OK CAPTAIN!!!”

 

Sitting up, she spun back around to face her computer. “What are your orders sir!?”

 

Rubbing his head, Jet leaned in to the computer. “I want to know everything you can dig up on Mechatronics, starting with Richard Caulder.”

 

***

 

It smelled wonderful! Spike inhaled the scent of cooking food with the intensity of a starving man, which he very nearly was. His mouth began to water as he followed Hollis into the modest home set back from the street. Considering the conditions most of the populous lived in, Bill Hollis's home was nearly a mansion.

 

“Sweetie, I'm back! I got a guest, there enough food to feed us all?”

 

The good-natured laugh indicated to Spike that there would be plenty to go around. A handsome woman appeared from the kitchen, wiping her damp fingers on a cloth. Bill swept her up in a quick hug before turning to introduce her to Spike. “Darlin', I want you to meet Mr…. uh, Mr…”

 

“Spiegel, Spike Spiegel.” Replied the younger man.

 

Hollis smiled, “Spike, meet the woman of my dreams! This is Leona.” The woman blushed, smacking her husband in the chest.

 

“Don't be an ass Bill!” She said, smiling. She turned to Spike, curiosity piquing her features. Never the less, she allowed him his privacy. “Does soup sound ok to you?”

 

Spike's stomach rumbled before he had a chance to answer. Leona laughed. “I'll take that as a yes! Bill, would you mind showing our guest to the dining room? I'll be right out with dinner.”

 

Bill turned to Spike. “Right this way!”

 

***

 

The soup was like heaven.

 

The broth was heavy and thick, seasoned with salt and butter. Chunks of carrot, potato, and shellfish swam in the golden depths. Besides the soup, there was also a large platter of yeasty bread, delightfully rubbery in texture. A bowl of dark fruits, similar to green olives, completed the meal.

 

Spike couldn't even remember eating food this good before. He was on his second bowl of soup before he remembered he was supposed to avoid solid food. Looking into the broth, he mentally shrugged. `Looks like liquid to me…'

 

 

After dinner, while Leona cleaned up, Bill led Spike to another room. It was a den or study of some kind. Books lined two walls, while a large screen dominated the third. On the fourth wall hung a giant blueprint of a building. “My first company, started ten years ago on Mars.” Spike hid his surprise with a mask of nonchalance. “We started out as just a simple operation, mostly delivery runs for the larger operations on the planet. For a while, I even made deliveries for a few of the syndicates. However, that was always like playing with fire. The last thing I needed was to discover I'd been unknowingly smuggling weapons or hazardous materials.”

 

Spike turned his attention away from the drawing. “I can't believe they'd let you cut off relations without retaliation.”

 

Hollis sat down in a heavy chair near a desk and indicated for Spike to take a seat as well. When both were settled, Hollis sighed deeply. “No, you're right. Two days after I ended the contract my warehouse was leveled by an explosion. I lost five men in that blaze…. one of them was my son.”

 

Spike's face remained stoic. “I'm sorry.”

 

Bill waved his hand. “It wasn't like you would have had anything to do with it.”

 

Spike remained silent. Ten years ago. He would have been about 17, and just starting his career. He could remember a lot of assignments that involved `persuasive measures'. And yes, sometimes that involved destroying a few businesses. However, Mao had been adamant that lives must not be taken unless it was absolutely necessary. But Spike was also partnered with Vicious, who had not been… delicate when it came to dealing out justice.

 

Bill bent to retrieve something from a drawer. “He would have been about your age now.”

 

He handed Spike something in a frame. It was a photograph of a young man, arms resting on the steering wheel of a car. His hair was dark, and his smile was lazy as he looked out the side window. Spike handed the picture back. “He was a good-looking kid.”

 

Bill nodded. “Yes he was, took after his mom that way.” Gazing at the photo for a second, Bill finally returned it to the drawer, closing it up inside. Spike didn't ask why it wasn't on display, but simply leaned back in his chair, allowing the weight of exhaustion to slip over him. Bill sat across from him, behind his desk. His eyes were hooded, missing the good humor that had seemed almost permanent until now. Finally, he looked up at Spike, his gaze narrowing in intensity.

 

“I suppose you probably wondered why a stranger like me would bring someone they just met into his home. Especially someone from this moon.”

 

Spike didn't speak, only waited for the man to continue.

 

“My wife has always accused me as being a big softie when it comes to anything lost or hurt. If I see a stray dog or cat, I take it in, look after it, and keep it safe until I can find where it belongs.” His eyes were still focused on Spike, and something in his expression made Spike sit up. It was recognition.

 

Hollis continued speaking. “I get a lot of shipments through my warehouse on a daily basis. Everything comes through me; food, liquor, tools, parts, building supplies, vehicles… and even some ships.” Spike felt something tingle in his lower back, but kept his eyes locked on Hollis, waiting for him to make any move that seemed threatening.

 

“One day, about six months ago, this large shipment comes in. There was just one item on the manifest. Not unusual, it happens now and then. Only, the item that arrived was a mono-racer. Now, that was strange. It had all the proper clearance codes, the paperwork had all been approved and stamped… but there was just something, not quite right. You see, the mono-racer was approved to be on the planet, but its current owner wasn't.” Bill folded his arms. “Stranger still, according to the file I pulled up, its current owner was dead.” Bill stared at the man across from him, who sat still as a marble statue. “When I saw you today, I nearly swallowed my tongue. I wasn't entirely certain until you told me your name. Spike Spiegel, former bounty hunter, and former member of the Red Dragons.”

 

***

 

“I should warn you, the last time I formed a relationship in a hospital it ended very badly.”

 

Christopher Wilde chuckled. “Well, you needn't worry, a date is the furthest thing from my mind.”

 

Faye sighed dramatically. “I really have lost my touch!”

 

Unsure how to respond, Wilde coughed in his hand. Faye smiled, pleased to have given back even the tiniest bit of discomfort she been submitted to for the past… week? Month? How the hell long had she been kept here anyhow? Her sense of time was completely destroyed by the intermittent periods of unconsciousness, not to mention she had no idea if it was night or day. She watched Wilde through the veil of her lashes. For the past few days, he had been stopping in to check her progress, take her temperature, and ask about her general health. Since she quit attacking him and spouting obscenities, he'd gradually allowed her more freedom in his presence, something she'd been waiting for. Now if only that gorilla of a guard would leave…

 

“Miss Valentine, if you'd be so kind…”

 

Faye opened her mouth obediently for the thermometer. After a few seconds, it beeped and announced her within acceptable parameters.

 

“You know, if you really want me to stay healthy, you should let me out for a while. A girl needs sunshine and fresh air! Look, my tan is almost gone, I look as pasty as a fish! What do you say, you could come with! Please?”

 

Wilde glanced at her, a look bordering pity crossing his face. “I'm not sure…”

 

“You wouldn't get a tan under this sun I'm afraid.” Announced a new voice. Faye looked over and grimaced as Andrew Mathis entered the room.

 

Wilde jotted a few more notes before acknowledging the new person. “What can I do for you Mr. Mathis?”

 

Andrew gave Faye an appraising look before taking Wilde by the elbow. “Come with me Doctor, there's something we need to discuss. Jud, stay here and keep an eye on her would you?” Jud crossed his arms and stood just outside the locked door. Faye couldn't help but kick the solid surface in annoyance.

 

***

 

Wilde and Mathis walked in silence until they reached the main lab. As the pneumatic door hissed shut behind them, Mathis turned around and leaned against the vat that had once held subject B, now deceased. Wilde stood before his superior with both arms hanging at his side. Mathis smoothed his tie. “How are the second-run trials going?”

 

Wilde set his clipboard on the shiny surface of a nearby counter. “Well, so far the results have remained consistent with early predictions on output and yield. There's been a seventy percent increase in productivity in the beta group since I introduced cells taken from a neutral subject. The devices were… amazing! I mean, they literally swarmed the sample, reorganizing the DNA, strengthening proteins and revitalizing neurons and electrons… It was like nothing I've ever seen before. What floored me is that the nano-machines actually seemed to be adding telomeres to the tips of the chromosomes! I mean, think about it! With unlimited telomeres, the cells in the body will just keep dividing… never dying! A person with these nano-machines existing in their body would, conceivably, live forever!”

 

Mathis pursed his lips and stared down at the floor for a moment, as though in deep thought. Finally, he looked up. “That's wonderful, no, extraordinary news Doctor. And I'm very happy to tell you that you'll get to see the amazing results of your work put into practice. Mr. Caulder has just informed me he would like to begin human trials today.”

 

Wilde looked at him, startled. “He, what? But, but the samples… I need more time, we can't start human testing until I've had a chance to…”

 

“Dr. Wilde, you enjoy working here don't you? Then I suggest you do what you are instructed to do! Up till now I've kept my misgivings about your reliability from Mr. Caulder, but now I'm starting to think he made a big mistake in hiring you.”

 

“Excuse me, Mr. Mathis, but I am not one to take lightly to threats. I for one know my worth to this company, and to Mr. Caulder. And I highly doubt he would be willing to risk so much with the little bit of data I've managed to collect so far. I know there is a great more study that needs to be done before I'd even be willing to begin animal testing, much less human trials…”

 

“Apparently you are highly ignorant of what's riding on this! We don't have time for all that! The human trials begin today!”

 

Wilde suppressed his anger by spinning around and placing both of his hands flat on the counter. After a moment to get control of his voice, he spoke. “Who does Mr. Caulder suggest we run our tests on?” He glanced over his shoulder when he didn't hear a response. Behind him, Mathis had removed his jacket and was rolling up one sleeve.

 

“Say Doc, you think I could get a lollypop when this is over?”


	14. Chapter 14

Spike didn't move an inch, didn't blink as Hollis stood up from the desk and walked around the front to lean on the edge. His arms folded over his wide chest as he stared down at the younger man before him.

 

“Your boss was Mao Yenrai, wasn't he?”

 

Spike's eyes gave away nothing, but his head dipped down fractionally.

 

“I knew Mao, in fact, he was the one that told me I needed to get out of the business. It's funny, I know. The same corporation that urges you to quit is the same one that goes after you when you do.” Hollis studied his palm, heavy and calloused, and criss-crossed with lines and creases. “Billy, my boy, was just doing a favor for his old man that night. I'd cut my hand pretty badly you see, and wasn't able to work for a few days.” He clenched his fingers. “He didn't, he didn't feel much…”

 

Spike shifted as Hollis turned away. He averted his gaze to allow the older man a moment to regain his composure. When Hollis faced forward again, his eyes were dry, though red-rimmed.

 

“I confronted Mao… stupid thing to do I know. It gave my wife nightmares for a week when she found out. But, it turned out, Mao didn't order the attack after all. It was carried out by one of his associates, a man named Vicious.” Hollis glanced at Spike. “I take it you know him.”

 

Spike's eyes narrowed. `Damn you Vicious, are you going to haunt me in this life too?' He looked up at Hollis. “I knew him.”

 

The older man nodded. "Not only did you know him, you worked with him.. didn't you." Hollis looked down at Spike for a long time before he finally sighed, rubbing his face. "Mao wouldn't tell me who was involved with the explosion. For a long time, I was dumb enough to think he was protecting them. Took my wife to point out that, maybe, he was protecting me. One thing I did find out, was that Vicious did it on his own, outside of Mao's instructions, in an effort to impress the Elders."

 

Spike rubbed his eyes. With that single act, Vicious had shown his true nature to those he wanted to impress. He'd never truly grasped what it was to be a member of the Red Dragons. The Elders had seen the heart of a serpent when Vicious went after Hollis. Forever after, he had been branded.

 

"If it means anything to you now, Vicious is dead."

 

Hollis nodded, biting his lip. "It does. It does."

 

***

 

Mathis bit the tip of his tongue as his blood surged inside him. 'What a rush!' He nearly giggled. He could literally feel the tiny swarms as they flew through his body, restructuring, reinforcing, rebuilding. It was euphoric!

 

A short distance away, Wilde was bent over a microscope, studying the initial results of the injection. For one giddy moment, Mathis wondered what it would feel like to walk over to the snooty doctor, wrap his hands around his throat, and snap his neck.

 

He decided that it would feel pretty damn good.

 

Before he could stand, however, Wilde turned around, a look of concern on his face.

 

"Mr. Mathis, I think you should see this."

 

Andrew held out his hand, taking the readout from the doctor. Wilde stood to the side, fiddling with his watch nervously. Mathis read over the results a few times, then nonchalantly dropped the readout to the bed he was sitting on.

 

"Yeah, so what? Couple of elevated proteins, few altered brain waves. the whole point of this experiment was to cause change doctor, don't act shocked when it actually happens."

 

Wilde retrieved the readout, pointing out a few details as he spoke. "You seemed to have missed something here, these are not minor changes, these are drastic alterations in brain patterns. I don't yet know all the implications this will have on you. It could be anything from mood swings to dementia! For your own safety I'm going to recommend you be quarantined in a secure area until all the test results are in."

 

"No."

 

Wilde looked up, his brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"

 

Mathis kept his head down, staring at the floor. "No. I will not be locked away like some criminal. I will not be 'quarantined' like a miserable lab rat. I will leave here, of my own free will. And if you attempt to restrain me.. I'll rip your lungs out."

 

Wilde breathed in sharply as Mathis lifted his head. His eyes were large, and had a strange shine to them. His thin lips turned up at the edges, and his cheeks appeared flushed. Wilde took an involuntary step backward.

 

"Andrew, Mr. Mathis… I…” Wilde realized he had no idea what he wanted to say. At the back of his mind, it occurred to him that he needed to alert security. He had anticipated something like this could happen… he just didn't realize it could happen this quickly.

 

“I'm sorry doctor, I don't have time to chat. There are some men I need to speak to; they will be very interested to know that the procedure works.” Turning his back to the doctor, Mathis strode for the door.

 

Breaking free from his stupor, Wilde reached under the edge of the counter, fumbling for a second until his hand closed about the handle of the emergency tranquilizer gun he kept there. Whipping back around, he aimed the gun at Mathis's retreating back. The shot made a soft `WUPHT' as the dart was ejected. It struck Mathis just below his left shoulder blade. Without breaking stride, Mathis reached around and jerked the annoying deterrent from his back. “Nice try doctor, see ya later.”

 

Wilde didn't even notice when the gun slipped from his numb fingers.

 

***

 

Richard Caulder was returning to his office when his communicator buzzed at his hip. Reaching down, he thumbed the device on as he pushed through the large door. “Caulder here.”

 

“Uh, sir? This is Chris, Dr. Christopher Wilde.”

 

Mr. Caulder's eyebrow raised as he walked around his desk, pivoting his high-backed chair so he could sit down. “What can I do for you doctor?”

 

Wilde's voice was tight with agitation. “Sir, I, there's been a problem. I know you wanted to see the results of the testing as badly as I, but I really think this was a… bad move, if you can forgive my saying so.”

 

Caulder sat forward in his chair. “Wilde, I'm not sure what you're getting at…”

 

“He took off, the injection reacted in, well, the worst possible way, and he ran.”

 

Caulder's fingers tightened around the communicator. “Dr. Wilde, who, what are you talking about, who did you inject?”

 

There was silence for a moment as the doctor processed the question. Finally, he spoke, his voice hollow. “You didn't order the testing.”

 

Mr. Caulder stood. “What testing?”

 

Wilde's voice was a ragged whisper. “Oh God…”

 

***

 

Mrs. Hollis was setting out dessert plates when Spike and Bill retuned.

 

“Hey, you guys enjoy your chat?”

 

Bill looked up at his wife, who had an odd smile on her face. `Never can keep anything from that woman', he thought bemusedly.

 

“Yes, yes we did.” He replied honestly as he sat down across from Spike.

 

Spike regarded the dish of ice cream with trepidation. Already, his stomach was feeling tight from the meal earlier. With regret, he pushed the bowl away. “Sorry, my doctor has me on strict orders…. which I've already ignored twice. I gotta pass.”

 

Leona's face creased with concern. “Oh no, did I serve you something I shouldn't have?”

 

Spike smiled. “Nah, nothing I can't handle. Thanks for dinner. I hate to cut the evening short, but I should probably get going.”

 

Bill stood with Spike. “Are you sure? Leona and I have lots of room, we'd be more than happy to have you stay here.”

 

Spike resisted the impulse to give in. A soft bed was very tempting, and he did not look forward to returning to the shabby hotel room. However, he shook his head. “Thanks, but I should really get back. Don't want to be wandering these streets after dark.”

 

Leona shot her husband a look, her eyes pleading.

 

Bill stuck his hands in his pockets. “Listen, Spike, are you sure I can't get you to change your mind? I understand if you feel uncomfortable, but, well, as you can imagine, we don't get guests very often…”

 

Leona stepped forward, her hazel eyes shining. “Please stay, the guest bedroom is well furnished, and you look like you haven't slept well, if you'll pardon me saying so.”

 

Spike's eyes shifted back and forth between the two earnest stares. And, like before in the bar, he found himself unable to coax the energy forth to fight. With a sigh, he plopped down in his chair again. “Alright, fine. But you owe me a good breakfast tomorrow.” He said, throwing Leona half a smile.

 

She grinned brightly in return. “I'll go get some fresh sheets. The room will be ready in just a minute.”

 

After she had gone, Spike looked up at Bill with a trace of wonder. “How on earth do you win any arguments with her?”

 

Bill looked down, a frown on his face and a slight shine in his eyes. “Who says I do?”

 

***

 

One by one the reports came in. No sign of Andrew Mathis anywhere. Richard Caulder could have beaten his head against the wall for being the fool. He should have suspected something. Going back through correspondence, both phone records and electronic communiqué, he discovered that over the past four months, Mathis had been in contact with both a military organization and two high-ranking syndicates. He had enticed them into a bidding war over the new nano-technology, promising exclusive rights and development to whoever came out on top. So far, the military was in the lead.

 

Caulder sat back from the screen, his face ashen. After a moment, he tapped on his communication screen. The nervous face of Dr. Wilde appeared on the other end.

 

“Anything new?”

 

Wilde rubbed his forehead, his face shiny with sweat, even though the lab was kept a steady 15.5 degrees Celcius. “No, nu- nothing yet, I'm sorry to say. Sir, if I'd only known…”

 

“Thank you Wilde, that will be all.” Caulder flipped off the screen with an angry jerk.

 

“Damn it Mathis…” He muttered, his face burning with a mixture of rage and fear. After a moment, he pushed himself away from his desk. He needed to think, and the best place to do that was in the East wing, where his son lay comatose, waiting for the miracle technology that would save his life. He only hoped Mathis hadn't destroyed that chance.

 

It would be twenty minutes before Caulder would think to have security check on subject C. By then, it was too late.


	15. Chapter 15

Dr. Wilde's face drained of color as he stood over the bleeding corpse. The manner of death, the cause, was so brutal, so devoid of humanity…

 

Mr. Caulder stood behind him, looking around the cell where subject C had formerly resided. His voice was hollow as he spoke.

 

“It's over. It's all over.”

 

Wilde looked up into the emotionless face of his employer. “Sir?”

 

“Get someone down here to take care of the body, would you Dr. Wilde?”

 

Wilde nodded, but Caulder had already turned away. “Yes, of course sir.”

 

While the older man walked down the hall with his security men, Wilde knelt by the victim on the floor. A vicious blow to the left temple had disabled, and probably killed the man instantly. However, apparently not satisfied with that, the killer had proceeded to beat the victim with some kind of blunt instrument, the butt of the guard's rifle it turned out. The weapon lay a short distance away, the stock spattered with blood and bits of bone. Wilde wiped his mouth with a shaking hand.

 

***

 

“Mr. Caulder?”

 

The CEO turned; waiting while a guard strode up to him, an unreadable expression on his face. Caulder rubbed his eyes. “Yes?”

 

The older guard shifted his feet, a small movement, but significant. “What's the problem, did you find Mathis?”

 

The guard forced himself to a parade stance, squaring his shoulders and staring straight ahead. “We checked all the security scanners sir, they've all been disabled.”

 

Caulder straightened. “Who was in the security office during this time?”

 

“Anderson and Williams, sir. However, they reported no abnormalities on the screens. I checked them myself sir. Apparently, Mr. Mathis intercepted the signal with a recorded image. There was no indication that the system had been compromised.”

 

“Bloody hell!” Caulder turned to the two security men still at his side. “Emory, you stay here with Dr. Wilde. Dower and Nix, come with me. I want to go over everything in Mathis's office, tear it apart if need be. We need to get the subject back.”

 

Pausing once to regard the body on the floor, Caulder grit his teeth and walked away.

 

Wilde watched his retreating back until he disappeared. The doctor looked up at the guard standing over him. “Stay here with the body. I'm going to call up a few orderlies to take care of him.” The nervousness in the guard's eyes betrayed his youth, but he remained where he was without protest. Though he did lift his rifle a little higher.

 

In the office, Wilde took one more moment to himself to wipe the sweat from his forehead. `Damn, what a balls up.' He thought bitterly. He should have known there was something going on with Mathis; the guy had been too mercenary. Thinking back, Wilde realized he'd been played the whole time. He wondered how much of the work he'd done had even been ordered by Caulder. He decided that once he had the dead guard taken care of, his next order of business would be to make a detailed account of every test he'd carried out for the past six months. Mr. Caulder would need to confirm whether the orders came from him or Mathis.

 

Wilde just hoped he still had a job after this was all over.

 

Hell, he hoped he was still alive.

 

***

 

Faye growled through her teeth. “Hey pal, you may not have noticed, but I don't play the whole `fair maiden in distress' bit very well!”

 

Mathis smiled. “That a fact?” He tapped a few buttons on a hand-held controller. “You know, you should be proud Miss Valentine. It's not often a person can claim they changed the Universe.” He looked at her, his finger poised above the controller. “You truly are a wonder.” He pressed the last button, and Faye's muscles went rigid as something akin to an electrical current passed through her.

 

Mathis studiously checked Faye's vitals as she lay on the bed. A soft glow covered her, giving off a light charge. Her eyes were open, but Mathis knew she wasn't seeing anything. All the readouts indicated she was in a perfect state of induced coma. The electrical field also inhibited the devices in her blood, placing them in a sort of stasis. She was ready for transport.

 

Time to call his contacts.

 

***

 

The old bounty hunter hunched over his controls. The screen before him flickered, then came to life. A smiling face filled the monitor. “Jet- person!”

 

Jet glanced out the forward viewport, then back at the small screen. “Edward, you sure this will work? I don't really feel like getting shot out of the sky you know!”

 

Ed straightened, her face becoming uncharacteristically serious. “Of course Captain sir! Ed's program will fool the super big computer system into thinking Jet- person is ok to be there!” Her face split into a grin again. “Can you bring me a souvenir?”

 

Jet sighed. “Sure, I'll pick you up space rock or something.”

 

Ed screamed with glee and Jet quickly cut the connection, rubbing his abused ears.

 

“You better be right about this kid.” He muttered as he piloted the Hammerhead into the Gate.

 

***

 

Bill Hollis found Spike standing in the small library off the dining room. The young man had his hands in his pockets, and was staring out the window. Without turning, Spike spoke. “Lotta books, I take it you like to read.”

 

Hollis glanced up reflexively at the tall stacks. “I pick up one now and then. My wife is the big reader in the family.”

 

Spike turned, pulling his hands out of his pockets. “Thanks for the clothes.”

 

Hollis chuckled. “I know for a fact you wouldn't have worn them if my wife hadn't stolen your old ones.”

 

Spike managed a small smile before returning to the window.

 

Hollis stepped closer, staring out at the minimal view. “I know you aren't one to share a lot of details about your life with perfect strangers; that's pretty obvious. However, I like to think I'm a descent judge of character… you're more than welcome to stay here.”

 

“You planning on adopting me like some kind of lost puppy?”

 

Hollis stopped speaking, then put his hand behind his head with a deep chuckle. “God, sure sounds like that's what I'm planning, doesn't it?”

 

Spike slipped his hands in his pockets again, turning his head to regard the older man. “Hey, I appreciate the gesture but… I think it's time I got outta here.”

 

Turning his back to the view, Spike dropped into a nearby armchair. Absently, he rubbed at his leg. “You said a ship came in under my name, right?”

 

Hollis nodded. “Yeah.”

 

Spike leaned back, folding his arms. “Do you happen to know where it is?”


	16. Chapter 16

His first view of Pandora left Jet with the feeling of desolation. This must be what ancient Earth prisoners must have felt upon first catching sight of Alcatraz. The moon was pockmarked across the surface, and shaped somewhat like a potato. Jet's stomach rumbled at the thought, and he cursed the fact that food had to be the most fitting association. Beyond the tiny satellite, he could see the distant glow of Saturn, surrounded by its rings of stone and space debris. However, the most prominent thing in his field of vision was not the moon, planet, or countless stars. The thing that now held his attention was the many-spoked wheel of the security station that was currently checking the authenticity of his registry and landing pass. His FORGED landing pass, courtesy of Edward. They seemed to be taking an awfully long time.

 

His comm. beeped, and Jet leaned forward to answer. “Yes?”

 

“Your registry and S.I.C are cleared. You may proceed. Enjoy Pandora.” The last sentence was said with a distinct note of sarcasm. Jet clicked off without a word as he hunched over the controls.

 

The only thing that came to mind as he dropped towards the atmosphere was an old memory of he and Spike, sliding into the bowels of forgotten Earth, in search of a treasure that turned out to be junk.

 

***

 

His scalp itched. The prickly new growth of his hair had begun to soften with added length, but it still felt odd. Now he remembered why he'd avoided the barber. Spike shaded his eyes with his hand as he half- limped towards the ship storage lot. The pass-key Hollis had given him should be sufficient to be allowed access. However, if there was a problem, the folded bills in his pocket would guarantee entrance. When Spike had raised a brow at the seeming lack of security within Hollis's own company, Hollis had simply smiled, answering, “You expect perfect employees on a moon filled with criminals?”

Now, the building loomed large before him. A weathered sign on the outside of the building read HOLLIS SHIPPING AND RECEIVING. In smaller print was this disclaimer; `No guarantees on sent or received goods. Payments are non-refundable. $2000.00 woolongs down on any outgoing transactions'. Passing through the first set of gates, Spike approached the single guard at the entrance. Apparently security wasn't as tight at this juncture, for the guard merely glanced at his pass before waving him through. Thirty feet beyond, however, was a different story. The two guards stood at attention as Spike walked towards them. One of them held up a gloved hand. “Present your pass.”

Spike held up the metal disk, which the guard quickly scanned. “What's your business here?” Spike thought about placing his hands in his pockets, then changed his mind when he noticed how tightly the second guard was gripping his weapon. “A package came in for me, I'm here to pick it up.” The first guard looked at him skeptically.

“There is a delivery pick-up at the front of the building.”

Spike was opening his mouth to reply when a voice behind him spoke first. “Not to worry gentlemen, Mr. Drayson is with me.”

The guard visibly relaxed. “Of course sir, my apologies. Go ahead Mr. Drayson.”

Spike smiled as he and Hollis walked past the checkpoint. “Got lonely at home?”

Hollis clasped his hands behind his back. “Actually, I forgot there were two guards here on Mondays, I only gave you enough woolongs for one.

 

***

 

Jet grimaced as he sampled the air of Pandora. Not the worst he'd ever smelled, but certainly not ranking anywhere near pleasant. Almost as soon as he'd docked, security men were surrounding his ship with scanners, confirming that he was the only bio-organism onboard. Another checked for any unregistered weapons, pharmaceuticals, or illegal drugs. Finally, finished with their work, they allowed him to pass. When he arrived at the gate, the guard scanned his landing card. “You have exactly fourteen days on Pandora, at which time you are required to leave. Non-compliance will result in the seizure of your vessel and an extended stay in one out scenic prisons.” Jet glanced at the guard, but didn't notice any humor on his face. “Please hold your hand under the scanner for implantation for your travel chip.” Jet held out his left hand, and the guard ran the device with barely a look. Feigning pain as the scanner passed over his palm, Jet gripped the small chip in his fingers. “Thank you, you may proceed.”

 

“Thank you my friend.” Answered Jet amiably as he crushed the small device in his hands. As it was, he wasn't planning on leaving by conventional means.

 

Once beyond the solid and sterile walls of the shipyard, Jet flipped open his comm.

 

“Hey Ed, any signs of activity around the Bebop?”

 

The girl looked back at him, upside-down, through her end of the device. “Negative Captain- Jet! The vessel is secure against all pirates!” In the background, Ein let out a short bark.

 

“Good. Let me know the instant there's trouble, out.”

 

“Aye aye Captain Jet-person sir!” The image of the girl winked out, and Jet slid the communicator in his breast pocket.

 

Up ahead stood a small collection of outbuildings; most likely storage sheds for equipment and supplies. There were no guards present within the vicinity, however, an electronic monitoring device blinked serenely from a high alcove, keeping an eye on the immediate area. Hunching his shoulders, Jet strode for the lights of the city.

 

***

 

The noise of the city was absent within the enclosed ship. Mathis fiddled with the dials on the side of the stasis bed. Faye hadn't moved, but his mind kept insisting that she had. A beep forced him to turn his back to the frozen woman. The light on his communicator was flashing.

 

“Mathis.” The picture flickered, then brightened to a steady glow. A mustached man with a stern face stared at him.

 

“I've finalized the purchase with my superiors. The meeting place has been set for the coordinates that are being sent to you now. As before, the agreed upon price is 40 million.”

 

Mathis glanced back at the bed behind him, then faced forward again, nodding. “Agreed. I'll rendezvous with you at 1500.” He clicked off the comm., then leaned forward on his knees. He stared at the desk before him, shivering a little as a chill passed over him. Why was it so cold in this ship? A noise startled him and he whirled, his hands clenching. There was nothing there, yet the feeling of some kind of presence wouldn't leave. Something was in the room with him, he was sure of it. The noise came again, on the other side this time, and Mathis shouted, spinning around the other way.

 

“Damn it, come out of hiding you bastard!” He dug his nails into his arm without even being aware of it. The stasis unit, perhaps… He strode quickly to the bed, acutely aware of the slight static hum it generated. She was the same, no movement whatsoever. He placed his hand on the glass shield, startled to see it smeared with blood. He felt sudden pain in his arm and looked down to see four deep scratches welling with crimson. What, when had that happened? He looked down at the face of the woman again. Was she, was she smiling? Surely she hadn't moved… He smashed his palm against the glass. “Stop it! Stop it right now dammit!” Furiously, he felt around for his access card. He'd put a stop to that right now. It had to be her! She was the one; she was the one making all the noise, the subtle movements. Maybe, somehow, she had been the one to wound him too… He wasn't sure how this was possible; somehow… somehow the stasis unit wasn't working correctly. He'd find another way to secure her for delivery.

 

Sliding the card into the slot, he entered in the code, needing to do it twice when his finger slipped the first time. As the field surrounding the bed began to flicker, he clenched his fist. He wouldn't be fooled by her again.

 

***

 

Spike ran one hand over the scorched hull of his ship. “How you doin' baby? Long time and all that.” Hollis stood a short distance behind him, examining the paperwork that went with the ship.

 

“Everything in order?”

 

Hollis grunted. “Seems to be, I don't see any discrepancies. You'll probably want to look it over in any event, just to be sure anyhow.”

 

Spike seemed barely aware of the other man as he slowly climbed the ladder set up next to the hatch. It seemed as though years had passed since he last put his hands on the Swordfish. He rubbed at a small scratch near the latch, recognizing the various nicks and dents along the body of the craft. The hatch released with a hiss of escaped air, and Spike carefully levered his body into the seat. Like coming home, his hands moved over the controls, feeling the familiar sensations wash over him again.

 

“How does it look?” Hollis stood at the top of the ladder, the paperwork shoved into a folded wad in his back pocket. Spike glanced over, an easy smile on his face.

 

“She's beautiful.” His eyes moved beyond Hollis's face, and suddenly he stiffened, staring in shock. “I don't believe it!”

 

Before Hollis could respond, Spike was clambering out of the ship again. The older man had to hustle to get out of the way. Without pause, Spike shuffled as quickly as he could towards another part of the hanger. Frowning slightly in confusion, Hollis followed.

 

***

 

Faye shivered, freezing with cold. Her limbs felt heavy, like dead weights. In moments, they started tingling with the sensation of returning circulation. In a flash, horror flowed through her as she remembered feeling this way once before. Where was she, WHEN was she? How much time had passed this time? Was she do start all over, once more, with everyone and everything she'd ever known dead and gone? A face bent over her, and she felt a moment's relief that she recognized the features. Then a frown of distaste formed as she realized who it was.

 

“What do you want, coming back to gloat?” She wanted to spit in his face, but her body wasn't responding to the signals she was sending it. For his part, Mathis had an odd look on his face. He stared down at her in a strange, almost fearful way.

 

“Do you know, do you grasp what will happen when they take you from here?” He asked, grasping his elbows in his hands. “You are a thing to them, a means to an end.”

 

Faye's fingers twitched with returning feeling. “Huh, sounds like fun.”

 

Mathis seemed startled at her nonchalance, then suddenly smiled. “Fun, yeah, fun. I think you'll change your mind about that when they hook you up to a lightning rod just to see what those little machines inside you will do.” Mathis walked away from her, seeming to search for something. He returned empty handed. “Do you hear it?”

 

Faye squinted up at him. “What, hear what?”

 

“I thought, I thought…” He inhaled sharply, swiveling his head around the darkened room. Faye managed to turn her head, trying to pierce the blackness. There was nothing to see within the immediate area. She gasped as a hand suddenly closed around her lower jaw. “Do not play games with me!” Screamed Mathis, tightening his grip until Faye grunted in pain. He lowered his face within inches of hers. “I know what you're doing, but it won't work.” Quickly, he released her, stepping away into the dark. Faye worked her jaw around, still feeling the tingle where his fingertips had imprinted on her face. Her head ached, and she forced herself to relax. Maybe, if she was lucky… Before her thought even began to form, he returned, his agitation gone. In its place was the smooth confidence he had displayed at their first meeting. “Well Miss Valentine, it seems we have guests arriving shortly. I expect you'll be on your best behavior, it wouldn't do for the General to think he was getting low quality merchandise now would it?”

 

Faye glared into his eyes, making a silent promise.

 

When I get out of this…


	17. Chapter 17

It was the Hammerhead, sitting there as big as life. Spike felt an unnatural bubble of laughter in the back of his throat, and was aware of Hollis watching him, a strange look on his heavy face. `He thinks I've lost my mind.' Thought Spike, staring up at the craft. The older man cocked his head.

 

“You know this ship?”

 

Spike smiled, placing his hands in his pockets. “She and I go way back.” He answered noncommittally. Turning as quickly as he was able, Spike started back for the exit. Hollis hurried after, his face set with confusion.

 

“Wait, but don't you… Where are you going?”

 

Spike didn't turn or slow his pace as he vanished through the door. Muttering under his breath, Hollis simply shook his head. “This is what you get for being a nice guy…”

 

***

 

Spike strode quickly as was possible on his slowly strengthening legs. The shock of seeing the Hammerhead was quickly being replaced with the anticipation of finding Jet and getting gone; he barely acknowledged the fact that Hollis was still trailing after him, scratching his head in puzzlement.

 

“Hey, hey Spike, wait up a second!” Hollis jogged closer to the slender figure, finally laying a hand on one bunched shoulder.

 

“Could you wait, just for a moment? What's going on here?”

 

He removed his hand, allowing Spike to turn and face him. The younger man looked distracted as his eyes darted around, examining the people around him. Hollis shook his head. “You know the owner of that ship? Who is it, a friend? Or is it someone you're trying to avoid?”

 

Spike smiled out of one side of his face. “You worried about me?”

 

Hollis folded his arms, returning the look. “Now why would I be worried about a scrawny guy like you? I mean, obviously you're capable of taking care of yourself.”

 

Spike laughed, turning to walk again. “Hollis, you really need to…”

 

When Spike didn't finish his sentence, Hollis stopped walking to glance at him.

 

“Spike?”

 

Spike suddenly grabbed Hollis by the shirtfront and urged him behind a nearby building. When Hollis started to speak, Spike clapped a hand over his mouth, pointing with his other hand. Hollis stared out, and spotted a group of armed men walking steadily down the street, right towards their position.

 

Hollis slid a little further into the shadows. “Those are Caulder's men.” He whispered softly. Spike nodded, his eyes going from the armed men to the crowded street. Passerby moved quickly out of the way, having no desire to confront the menacing individuals.

 

Spike remained hidden until the last of the men had disappeared down the street. Then, checking back and forth cautiously, he turned down the alley with Hollis behind him.

 

“Were they looking for you, or was it someone else they were after?”

 

Spike shook his head. “I'm not willing to ask them.”

 

***

 

Jet grimaced, lifting his foot out of the acrid puddle of sludge he'd stepped into. Muttering, he scraped the sole of his boot across the concrete, trying, unsuccessfully, to wipe the fluid from the tread. Grunting, he gave up the effort and stepped around the rest of the mess… and promptly smacked into an armored chest. “Huh... oh, excuse me.” He said, stepping back. The man he'd run into gave him a cold look.

 

“Are you a resident of Pandora, or a visitor?”

 

Jet's brows lifted. “What's it to you?”

 

The other man, obviously a soldier of some kind, lifted his hand to his earpiece, listening for a second. After a moment, he returned his frozen expression to Jet.

 

“There has been an incident. We can't afford any interference by outside parties. Now, produce your identification tags or travel chip.”

 

Jet growled softly though his teeth. “Look buddy, I just stepped out for a quick walk- I left my tags back at the house. You wanna give me a break?”

 

The soldier leveled his blast rifle a Jet's chest. “Any resident of Pandora would have his tags on him at all times. Obviously you are here illegally. You will come with me now.”

 

***

 

“Sir?”

 

Caulder lifted his head without speaking.

 

“Sir?”

 

Sighing, he gestured with his hand. “Yes, go ahead.”

 

“I'm sorry to disturb you sir, but you wanted to be alerted the moment we found anything unusual.”

 

Caulder finally turned to face the young Lieutenant in the doorway, his anticipation neatly hidden behind his glacial expression. “Make your report.”

 

“Our group was patrolling near the shipyards, checking ID tags and travel chips, when we found a man without clearance to be here. He had no identification on him of any sort. We apprehended him and brought him back to the base.”

 

Caulder crossed his arms. “In spite of the fact that you did as you were ordered, was there anything about this man that would warrant particular attention?”

 

The Lieutenant nodded. “Yes sir, there was. After we took him into custody, we ran a medscan and found an imbedded ID chip at the base of his neck. It identifies him as an ISSP officer by the name of Jet Black. He left the ISSP several years ago, and now works as a bounty hunter. Sir, his last partners were Faye Valentine… and Spike Spiegel.”

 

Caulder's eyes opened a bit at the revelation. Still maintaining his expression, he settled himself behind his desk. “Thank you Lieutenant. Tell the Warden I'd like to speak to Mr. Black as soon as they're finished with him.”

 

“Yes sir.” The Lieutenant turned to go when Caulder held up his hand.

 

“And Lieutenant?”

 

“Sir?”

 

“It might be best if Mr. Black doesn't know that we've been keeping both of his former shipmates as our guests here.”

 

The Lieutenant nodded. “Of course sir.”

 

Once more alone in his office, Mr. Caulder steepled his fingers and looked towards the giant window dominating one wall.

 

Nothing but a heavy breath escaped his lips.

 

***

 

Hollis couldn't believe the bad luck! They had just managed to avoid Caulder's goons when they nearly walked right into a squadron of uniforms approaching from behind. Spike had ducked into the nearest doorway with Hollis at his heels.

 

“What the hell is going on here!” Fumed Spike as he watched the military men striding by in formation. Towards the center of the group walked a man in officer's dress. At his side was a shorter man carrying, what appeared to be, a very heavy satchel.

 

Hollis noted Spike's expression. “Friends of yours?” He asked softly. Spike shook his head.

 

“Not in this lifetime… or the last. In fact, I do the best I can to keep me and the military far away from each other.”

 

Hollis turned his eyes back to the squadron of troops as they passed beyond the last building. He sighed through his nose as they disappeared from sight. Once they were gone, he looked over at Spike. “That's the thing, the military feels the same way about everyone on Pandora as you do about the military… which is why I'm wondering… what are they doing here now?”


	18. Chapter 18

The blinking light hurt her eyes.

 

`Why am I still awake?'

 

She'd asked herself that countless times in the last two hours… and still had no answer. The asshole, Mathis, had left her about ten minutes ago to `set up for guests'. And, of course, he turned off all the lights in her room… except for this,

 

(blink)

 

annoying little,

 

(blink)

 

bright red,

 

(blink)

 

light!

 

Faye swore as she tugged at her binds again. They weren't shackles, so she couldn't pick the locks… which she couldn't do anyhow because she was bereft of tools. And it wasn't rope, so she couldn't cut it… as if there were anything sharp in the room anyhow. Instead, out of a desire to keep her from `damaging' herself, Mathis had used a new restraint developed for violent psychiatric patients. It was a rubber-like substance that completely encased her hands and arms up to the elbows. Her feet were left free, but weighted with special boots to prevent escape. As it was, the darkness was so disorienting, she couldn't tell where the door was anyhow.

 

Frustrated, Faye tried to kick the wall, but could barely lift her foot to do so. Angry tears welled in her eyes, and she had all she could do not to give in. Instead, she buried her fear, imagined her hands around Mathis's throat, and screamed.

 

***

 

As he had countless times throughout the past few days, Spike put his hand to his side and felt for a gun that was no longer there. As before, he came up empty.

 

Hollis caught the motion. Without a word, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small pistol. Grabbing the barrel, he held it out to Spike.

 

The younger man stopped short at the sight of the weapon. “Are citizens of Pandora allowed to carry firearms?”

 

Hollis kept his expression neutral as Spike took the proffered gun. “Not that I've heard, no.”

 

Nodding, Spike inspected the rounds, then sighted quickly along the barrel. “You don't need to come with me you know. I have a knack for getting into trouble… I can't guarantee this won't end badly.”

 

Hollis grunted good-naturedly as he pulled a second gun from his coat. “You think I'd let some half-dead ex-bounty hunter go into this with my good pistol all by himself? Besides, I'm kinda curious about what would bring these guys all the way out here.”

 

Spike nodded as he chambered a round. “I'm sure it'll be interesting.”

 

***

 

Faye sat up at the muffled sound of voices. She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat as unexpected fear rose within her. She hated not knowing what was going on. Then, unmistakably, she heard Mathis's voice outside her door. Though she knew he was speaking, the thickness of the door prevented her from making out the words. Another voice spoke, and then…

 

“…ere we are gentlemen… Miss Faye Valentine.”

 

The sudden wash of light in the room was blinding, and Faye turned her face away with a grimace. Before she could react, a hand grasped her jaw and turned her head around again.

 

“As you can see, she is in perfect health… not a single scar!”

 

She tried to bite Mathis's fingers, but he jerked them away quickly. Chuckling, he shot her a dark look.

 

“She has a bit of a temper, but that shouldn't affect your tests in any way.”

 

The other voice she'd heard spoke out of the fading glare.

 

“It's not her temperament I'm concerned with, Mr. Mathis, but her regenerative capabilities. How quickly does she heal from an abrasion, a gash, or a deep wound? How much damage can her body endure before it fails completely?”

 

Mathis didn't give Faye a single glance as he responded.

 

“I'll show you.”

 

***

 

Twenty of the armor-clad soldiers stood at attention outside the hanger doors. Hollis ground his teeth at their presumption. “My friend owns this lot, these bastards have no right to impose their control over it!”

 

Spike crouched next to him on the concrete; they were hidden from view by a stack of wreaked ship parts. “Don't let it blow your cool. These guys are just following orders. The one we want is inside. Is there a way in that doesn't entail a frontal assault?”

 

Hollis nodded. “We can go in through the side, there's a service door for the maintenance crew. But we'll need a key.”

 

“It's all taken care of.” Said Spike with a smile.

 

Five minutes later they were standing next to the locked door. Removing his outer shirt, Spike wrapped the garment around the barrel of his pistol. Hollis started to protest, but Spike acted before he could say anything. There was a muffled shot, and the lock disintegrated. Spike shook out the shirt, noting the holes in the sleeve. “A little bit louder than I'd have liked… and sign of company?”

 

Hollis snuck to the edge of the building for a quick look. Shaking his head, he ran back. “It's all clear.”

 

Setting his expression, Spike pushed open the door and slipped inside.

 

Within the hanger, the lighting was very dim. Allowing a moment for their eyes to adjust, the two men crept around the ships parked there. The stacks of equipment, as well as the many ships made it difficult to locate their targets. Ducking beneath a drooping hose, Spike caught sight of movement about forty feet to the left. Another group of about ten soldiers were standing outside a large ship, weapons in hand.

 

“Looks like quite a party, wish I was invited.” Muttered Hollis under his breath.

 

Spike smiled as he observed the group. “Let's crash it!”

 

Hollis nodded back, a trickle of nervous sweat running down his face. “Guns blazing?”

 

Spike glanced at his companion, noting the paleness of his complexion. “Are you sure you want to do this? I can handle this alone.”

 

To his credit, Hollis considered the suggestion. Then, his gaze wandered over to the metal braces encasing Spike's still weakened legs. His lips pulled up in a tight smile. “My wife keeps telling me I need to take it easy.” He chuckled. “One of these days I should listen to her. But not today.”

 

Nodding once, Spike turned back to the soldiers. “Alright. What I need you to do is circle around to the back, keep an eye on things and make sure I'm covered if this turns ugly… which it probably will.”

 

Hollis nodded. “That's fine, ok. But I was thinking…”

 

His words fell silent as the hanger was suddenly filled with the piercing sound of a woman's scream.

 

As the sound faded, Hollis shook his head. “Good God, what the hell are they doing in there?” Receiving no reply, he glanced over. “Spike?”

 

The other man's face was frozen, his eyes wide in apparent shock.

 

“Spike? Hey, what is it?”

 

Spike's gaze was locked on the ship before them. Without looking at Hollis, he lifted his pistol. “New plan. Gun's blazing.”

 

Darting from behind their cover, he began firing.


	19. Chapter 19

The light in the cavernous room was muted by the drawn curtains. Behind a large desk, Jet could make out the form of a seated man. With a short nod, the guard behind Jet acknowledged his superior before closing the door behind him. A puff of smoke rose from the chair.

 

“Have a seat Mr. Black.”

 

Jet crossed his arms. If it's all the same to you, I'll stand thank you.”

 

Mr. Caulder sighed as he too rose to his feet. “I certainly wouldn't want to force you to do anything that would make you uncomfortable.” As he spoke, Caulder stubbed out his cigar in a crystal dish. Rounding the desk, he came to stand near Jet. “As it is, we have a bit of a problem.”

 

Jet huffed. “Is that a fact.”

 

Caulder waited for a moment. Then, realizing nothing more would be forthcoming, continued speaking.

 

“You see Mr. Black, my company has recently experienced a bit of a… loss. A member of my staff betrayed us and stole something that is of great value. Finding this individual is not difficult. Regaining my merchandise intact, however, may prove to be more of a challenge.”

 

Jet cocked his head. “That's too bad. It doesn't explain, however, why you felt the need to arrest me.”

 

“As to that, the laws of Pandora should have been explained to you… and as a former member of ISSP, you should have known the regulations anyhow. No one is permitted to walk the streets of Pandora without proper clearance. Why you chose to do so is beyond me.”

 

Jet flexed his fingers. “I wasn't exactly planning on leaving by… `legal' means. An imbedded chip that can track the movements of its wearer is not exactly a good thing to have when you're trying to elude capture.”

 

Caulder surprised himself with a quick laugh. “Touché! Though that didn't help you in this case I'm afraid. Unfortunately, the person I'm seeking had the same idea.” Walking back to the giant window, Caulder clasped his hands behind his back. Jet followed. Caulder glanced at him as he walked up. “Why are you here?”

 

Giving the man a long look, Jet sighed. “Because I lost something valuable to me too, and I was hoping I could find it here. No, not a something, a someone. She's one of the few people in my life that matter, and I've already lost too many friends as it is. You can lock me away for trespassing, but understand that doing so may destroy any chance I have at finding my friend.”

 

Caulder didn't respond at first, only stood by the window and stared at his own reflection in the soft light. The receiver on his desk gave a muted beep. Half a minute passed before Caulder finally turned to acknowledge the page. Returning to the desk, he pressed down the flashing button.

 

“Yes.”

 

A scratchy voice responded. “Sir, we seem to have a situation! We tracked Mathis to the East shipyards. Upon nearing the complex, we suddenly experienced heavy fire. My team and I fell back and are attempting to determine the source before proceeding.”

 

Caulder set his jaw. “Any sign of Mathis?”

 

There was a slight pause before the reply came. “Negative, as yet, we have not made visual contact. We are preparing to advance on the structure now.”

 

“Alert me the second that Mathis is apprehended.”

 

“Acknowledged sir, Hendricks out.”

 

Releasing the switch, Caulder sat down at his desk and relit his cigar. Through the rising smoke, he studied Jet.

 

“You can see what I'm dealing with.”

 

Jet stared back intently. “And I've explained what I'm dealing with. Frankly, I couldn't give a damn about your problems right now.”

 

Caulder nodded, holding his cigar between two fingers. “I hope you believe me when I say that I understand. I too have a loved one I'm trying to save.” He turned to the window again. “I just hope it isn't already too late.”

 

***

 

**Previously-**

 

“It's not her temperament I'm concerned with, Mr. Mathis, but her regenerative capabilities. How quickly does she heal from an abrasion, a gash, or a deep wound? How much damage can her body endure before it fails completely?”

 

Mathis didn't give Faye a single glance as he responded.

 

“I'll show you.”

 

She tried to move away as Mathis approached, but was inhibited by the metal boots on her feet. When he was within four feet of her, he pulled a pocketknife from his jeans.

 

“Observe gentlemen.”

 

With a swift move, he gripped her bound arms with one hand and scored her bare skin with the small blade.

 

“Ahh! Damn it, bastard!” She cried as he released her. The cut was shallow, and the bleeding didn't last long. Stepping closer, the man dressed as a military officer watched her for any reaction. Pursing his lips in annoyance, he was about to call of the whole deal when he suddenly gasped. The cut was closing. In seconds, no trace of the injury was left.

 

“My god.” The officer gave Mathis a startled look. “Absolutely amazing!” He rubbed a hand over his bushy mustache. “She seems to have incredible regenerative abilities. Still, I'd like to see a demonstration of something a little more… debilitating.”

 

Mathis nodded. “Of course.”

 

Faye looked up from her fascination with her newly discovered talent. Her eyes widened with a mixture of fear and astonishment as Mathis leveled a gun at her chest.

 

“Let's see just how amazing you really are shall we?”

 

Faye screamed as the bullet tore into her body, just above the navel. Pain like she'd never felt before grasped her body in an icy grip. She immediately began shivering.

 

Lying on the floor, she could dimly make out the sound of Mathis's voice as he assured them she'd be just fine. If she wasn't in so much pain, she would've kicked his ass.

 

It was as she was contemplating various methods of killing him that she first heard what sounded like gunshots. Before she could think about what it meant, men started running everywhere, shouting and ignoring orders. And then it all came crashing down as the world exploded around her.

 

***

 

Spike's gaze was locked on the ship before them. Without looking at Hollis, he lifted his pistol. “New plan. Gun's blazing.”

 

Darting from behind their cover, he began firing.

 

Shocked, Hollis sat frozen as Spike leaped out to face the army before him. Saying a quick prayer, the older man prepared to follow… and suddenly realized what Spike was shooting at.

 

The row of fuel storage tanks exploded in a deafening fireball.

 

Soldiers scattered as other tanks let go, spilling flames in the air. Ducking to avoid the spraying shrapnel, Hollis franticly looked for any sign of Spike. Finally, through the growing haze, he spotted the slim figure crouching near the hull of the ship the soldiers had been guarding. As soon as it was clear, Spike slipped through the hatch.

 

Mentally slapping himself from his stupor, Hollis grabbed for the communicator at his belt.

 

“Sandy! Yeah, Hollis here… no time to chat. Grab your boys and get down to your place ASAP… something big is going on!”

 

Almost before the words left his mouth, a new round of gunfire broke out. Turning, he grunted in surprise as a new influx of uniformed men began filling the hanger.

 

Caulder's men had arrived.

 

***

 

The interior of the ship was chaotic, but blessedly dark. Several smaller explosions shook the deck plates beneath Spike's feet. Pressing close to the bulkhead, he kept in the shadows until the immediate area was clear of bodies. Overhead, red emergency lights cast a dim aura, serving little help in the imposing blackness.

 

Checking his rounds again, Spike limped towards an open door. His previous exercise was doing a number on his legs, and a dull ache had settled into his knees and calves. Ahead, through the gloom, he could see what appeared to be another passageway. Without knowing exactly where he was headed, he made for the passageway, hoping it wouldn't lead to a roomful of armed men. Outside, the fighting and sounds of gunfire seemed to be escalating. Spike hoped Hollis was alright, but figured the man was probably fine, he seemed resourceful enough.

 

Footsteps echoed just ahead, and Spike flattened himself against the bulkhead. At the last moment, he spun into the hallway, using fists instead of bullets. The two men bounced off the walls and onto the grating without a single cry. Spike straightened slowly, gritting his teeth against the strain. He probably shouldn't have resorted to a roundhouse kick for the second guy.

 

Passing through the far doorway, Spike emerged into a spacious room. It looked like some sort of makeshift medical lab. Several broken bottles and vials lie scattered across the floor, spilling their contents across the smooth surface. The lighting in here was little better, but it was enough for Spike to see the smaller door at the opposite end of the room. Limping along the wall, he moved towards the door, his pistol held loosely in his right hand. Straining his ears as he approached, he searched with his eyes for any movement within.

 

Something was in there. Spike raised his gun, preparing to fire.


	20. Chapter 20

Faye opened her eyes, realizing she must've blacked out after that first thunderous explosion. The ship still vibrated beneath her, and her teeth chattered violently. After a few seconds, she tried to move, and immediately regretted it as breathless pain fired across her abdomen and into her legs. She gasped, unable to hold back moans of pain. She tried to wrap her arms around her stomach, then clenched her teeth in frustration when they wouldn't move- they were still held firm by the rubbery binding. That bastard Mathis was so proud of they way he'd “shackled” her that he bragged about it as he locked the boots on her feet.

 

_`Ingenious isn't it? A gift from a guy in the lab. The irony was that he was developing it for the same people that are coming to see you. Maybe I could sell it to them for some pocket cash… considering its creator won't be needing it anymore.'_

 

He'd laughed then, that braying lunatic laugh that made the hair on her arms stand on end. Faye bit her lip as she tried to roll onto her back. Though heavy, the boots hadn't kept her upright when she was shot at point blank range. However, now that she was horizontal, the weight of the boots dragged on her again. She realized she'd twisted her ankle, but couldn't move it to relieve the pain.

 

There was a sound at the door.

 

Her head turned quickly, and she could discern the shape of someone in the entrance, their outline haloed by red emergency lights. Biting her lip, she looked around for any sort of weapon. Just beyond the reach of her hand, she saw the gun she'd been shot with. Mathis must've dropped it in the explosion.

 

Stretching her fingers, she reached for it.

 

***

 

Spike steadied himself against the door. That sound of slight movement came again, along with an intake of breath. Damn it, he'd been spotted.

 

He had only one shot at this.

 

Gripping the doorway in his fingers, Spike launched himself into the room at an angle, lifting his gun to fire at the same time. In the blur of movement, he saw the figure grab something off the floor and whirl towards him at the same time. In the reddish light, he saw her face.

 

“Oh Shit!”

 

He didn't fire, but she did.

 

***

 

Faye nearly screamed as the slender figure leaped into the room at her. In that same instant, her fingers found the handle of the gun. Rolling onto her back, she fired at the shape in the air, and gasped as she heard the curse he uttered.

 

He hit the floor and didn't move.

 

***

 

He wasn't sure why he was doing this. Hadn't he himself been the one to tell his people not to reveal anything to Jet Black about the location of his partner? Yet, Richard Caulder was also one to recognize when the cards were stacked against you. He knew it was time to cut his losses. In conversation, Mr. Black had revealed himself to be a stubborn and hard-headed individual, set in his ways. Yet, he had also shown the depth of his heart. He was willing to go anywhere, and do whatever it took to recover his lost friend. Richard could easily relate to that. Which was why he was currently standing with the bounty hunter at the foot of his son's bed.

 

Jet's voice was subdued in the large room, as was the voice of every person that came in here. It was as though the room itself was weeping, and the occupants responded to its sorrow with hushed tones.

 

“How long?”

 

Richard brushed his hand over Ethan's forehead. “Three years. He's been… gone, three years.”

 

His arms crossed, Jet studied the figure in the bed, feeling the weight of the other man's grief pressing on him almost physically.

 

“You thought Faye could cure him?”

 

Caulder took his son's hand. “Those machines inside her have the power to regenerate tissue. They can heal him, I know it.”

 

Jet shook his head. “Sure, maybe they can. But maybe they can drive him insane too. Look at what happened to Vincent. For that matter, look at what your friend Mathis is doing. Faye was lucky.”

 

Caulder shook his head. “You're wrong. My best researcher was close to a breakthrough when all this occurred. Trust me Mr. Black, we've done our homework.”

 

“Have you? Maybe you should have researched your researchers a little better then. Did you happen to realize that your friend Mathis is a wanted man? ISSP has been looking for him for a long time. Only his name's not Mathis, it's Wallace Dempsey. He's been on the run for about seven years. Yeah, probably found hanging out here real cozy; real easy to go unnoticed for a while.”

 

Caulder placed his son's hand back on the bed and straightened upright. His eyes were dark and filled with regret, an emotion he normally kept hidden when he was around others. His sigh was heavy.

 

“You're right, we did fail in that regard. But I am positive we can get this thing back on track. We just need to get those nanomachines. A few more tests…”

 

“You listen here!” Jet grabbed the other man by the lapels, shaking him slightly. “I don't have time for any more bullshit! My friend is out there, and I'm going to get her back! You need to face the fact that your son died three years ago, and nothing that Faye has will help him now! Now either let me out of here willingly, or I'm going to beat my way out! Either way, I'm leaving, now!”

 

Dropping the other man, Jet began striding for the door. Behind him, Caulder clenched his hands. “Stop, wait… wait, please.”

 

Against his better judgment, Jet turned. His eyes were dark as he stared at Caulder. “Look, I'm sorry about your son, I know you love him. But you need to understand, I care about my friend too… she's one of the few I have left. I'm going to get her back… don't stop me.”

 

Caulder met his gaze unflinching. “Mr. Black… she isn't the only friend you have here.”

 

***

 

Faye groaned as the pain took over again after the rush of adrenaline started to wear off. She was starting to feel cold. Glancing over to make sure the other figure was still down, she gasped as she saw him start to move. Gripping the gun, she tried firing again… and swore when all she heard was clicks.

 

“Damn it!” She threw the gun at the approaching shape, hearing it bounce against the metal floor. The figure continued to advance, limping slightly as he moved closer. Faye grit her teeth. She could still bite if she had to. Then he spoke.

 

“Hard to aim when you're lying on the floor. Lucky for me.”

 

The figure was still in silhouette… but that voice…

 

“Who… who are you…”

 

An arm slid beneath her shoulder, and the face was suddenly visible in the reddish glow.

 

“Spike…”


	21. Chapter 21

Spike stared down at the woman in his arms. Her shock had been expected. He also wouldn't have been surprised by a slap, punch, or gunshot to the back. What he hadn't bargained on, however, was to have her pass out seconds after whispering his name.

 

He didn't have time for this.

 

“Faye, hey, wake up!” He shook her, mindful of the wound in her gut. Her lids blinked heavily as she slowly came to. As she saw the face looking down at her, she shook her head, as though to clear it.

 

“Spike? Spike… how… but Vicious… and we looked for you, and then the report from ISSP…” Her eyes shimmered and she bit her lip to keep back the tears. A chocking sob broke from her as she stared into his face. “How could you leave us? I know you and I weren't exactly best friends… but, Jet? Do you know, do you have any idea how much he suffered?”

 

Spike couldn't respond as he stared at her. He was more than a little shocked to hear genuine concern in Faye's voice as she spoke of the older man. Her eyes studied him unflinchingly as she sought answers he couldn't give. Her face fell when he didn't speak, and she turned her head away.

 

“How can this be real?” A single tear ran down her face as she closed her eyes. “No, it's just a dream…”

 

Spike smiled wryly. “One thing I've come to realize Faye, this is definitely no dream.”

 

At the sound of his voice, she jumped. True wakefulness seemed to rush through her as she struggled to get away from him. “Let go of me you bastard!” She shoved at him with her bound hands as she tried to push him off her.

 

Spike chuckled as he propped her up against the wall. “Now that's the Faye I remember!” She was able to sit ok, but standing and walking was out of the question with the weight of the boots dragging at her. Spike frowned. There was no way he could carry her… even if he'd been in perfect shape…

 

Faye saw the sudden glimmer in his eye.

 

“What?”

 

He looked at her, smiling. “I think I have an idea.”

 

***

 

Jet's eyes narrowed as he stared at Caulder. Behind the older man, his son still lie on the bed, seemingly dead to everything.

 

“You're lying.”

 

Caulder shook his head, clasping his hands behind his back. “I assure you, Mr. Black, I'm telling you the truth. And, I deeply regret the pain this has caused you and your shipmates. Had I known…”

 

Jet growled. “Had you known? You did know, and you went ahead and did what you damn well pleased anyhow! What I want to know is what you plan to do to make up for it! Now according to you, I've got two friends out there, in danger. Now are you gonna help me get them back or not!”

 

***

 

“Are you sure these are turned up as high as they can go?”

 

Spike pressed himself against the wall as he gasped for breath. He nodded as he waited for his respiration to slow. “Yea.. yeah. They aren't designed to be anti-gravity you know.”

 

“Not exactly designer-wear either.” Said Faye, studying the leg supports attached to her calves. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Spike carefully push away from the wall, limping heavily as he kept one hand on it for support. She felt the tears close to the surface again. `Spike is alive' kept running through her head… a mantra that was part giddy amazement, and part depthless sorrow. Would anything be different now? Would `he' be different?

 

His head dipped in weariment as he partially recovered enough to drag himself forward again. Faye was also limping as she straggled along behind him. Her ankle was on fire, and though they helped, the leg braces didn't completely prevent the boots from pulling at her feet. At every sound, the two of them would stop and wait. Faye was unarmed, but Spike still had his pistol. He was well stocked with rounds, and Faye was relying on him to keep her out of trouble.

 

Well, she'd worked with less and still come out ahead.

 

They were close to the ship's entrance when Faye stumbled again, this time going to her knees. Her teeth clenched as she doubled over.

 

“Hey, hey, you alright?” She felt Spike's hand on her shoulder, but couldn't respond through the pain. His hand went to her wrist and pulled her bound hands away from her wound. It was bleeding again.

 

“Can you still walk?”

 

Faye looked up at his face, noticing the room had grown hazy all of the sudden. “I don't know…” Barely had she finished speaking when she slumped to the side.

 

***

 

Spike shook her to no avail. “Damn it!”

 

Gripping the pistol, he stood again, easing his head around a corner. There was still a lot of gunfire outside, but at least the explosions had died off. He glanced quickly at Faye, assuring himself she'd be ok for a moment. He couldn't move her on his own, he needed help; and the only help he could think of was somewhere outside the ship. Holding the pistol in both hands, he peered around the corner again… and jerked when someone from outside suddenly ran up the ramp, straight towards him.

 

***

 

Mathis was surrounded by gunfire. After the explosion, he'd dropped the pistol, and suddenly found himself pushed outside with the General and his men. Next thing he knew, he was stuck, unarmed, in the middle of a war. The General was nowhere in sight, and Mathis was suddenly aware of his vulnerability.

 

“Screw this!” He cried as he ducked and dodged through the melee. The ship waited for him like a sanctuary. If he could make it there, he'd be fine. He could close it up, secure his cargo, and make a break offworld. The other bidders would be more than happy for a second chance at what he offered. He just needed to get the hell out of here first.

 

He winced as a stray shot clipped his arm. Thankfully, the pain subsided quickly as his modified body began healing the injury. Just a few more meters to go…

 

***

 

Spike had little time to react as the other man burst into the ship. Following the tried and true method of strike first and ask questions later, he swung out with his leg and caught the man in the forehead, knocking him flat. Unfortunately, the move sent a blaze of pain up his shin and into his knee, effectively crippling him. Stumbling against the bulkhead, Spike saw the other man recover quickly and pull himself to his feet, eyes wide as he focused on his attacker.

 

The look in his eyes… Spike could swear he'd seen it before.

 

“Who the hell are you!” Shouted the other man as he glanced around himself. Spike painfully forced himself straight, allowing his shoulders to hang loosely in feigned nonchalance.

 

“A ghost from the past.” Without another word, Spike shifted his weight, waiting for the other man to move first.

 

***

 

Mathis studied his opponent while he rubbed the bruise on his cheek. He seemed familiar somehow. The light was questionable at best, but he was sure he'd seen those features before. A bundle on the floor behind the other man moved slightly. Mathis focused his eyes on it, recognizing what it was a second later. His confusion about how Faye had made it this far in the boots was erased when he saw the leg braces. In that same moment, his memory triggered, and he suddenly realized whom it was he faced.

 

“Spike Spiegel… welcome back to the living.”

 

***

 

The red-haired girl was sleeping. Across her stomach lay a small brown dog, also asleep.

A tiny beeping sound echoed about the room. Yawning, Ed sat up, pulling her goggles off her eyes.

 

“Nnneaaaahhhhh….” she said as she tapped at her laptop. There was a thread of static, and then the bearded face of Jet Black filled the screen.

 

“Edward!”

 

“Hmmm?”

 

“Change of plans. I need you to enter an escape heading into the Bebop's navigational controls. It looks as though our rescue mission has developed a new wrinkle.”

 

Ed tilted her head. “New plan?”

 

Jet glanced to the side, then back at the screen. “There could be a lot of ships with a lot of heavy artillery coming after us, we need to get away, fast!”

 

The redhead grinned hugely as she stood, saluting briskly. “I am on it Captain, you can count on Edward!”

 

Jet leaned in close to the flickering screen. “This is important Ed, I need you to follow my instructions precisely.”

 

Ed squatted, her hands hovering over the keys. Her face grew oddly serious for a moment as she studied the older man. “Is something wrong Jet-person?”

 

Jet sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Ed, we might…” he paused, looking into her intense golden eyes. “No, nothing's wrong. In fact, if you do this right, Jet-person might just bring you back a souvenir.”

 

Ed gasped. “A souvenir for Edward? What is it what is it??”

 

Jet smiled oddly. “Something we've been missing.”


	22. Chapter 22

“Spike Spiegel… welcome back to the living.”

 

The look on Mathis's face was that of a hunting wolf. Spike stood between him and his property… and he just couldn't allow that. He tightened his fists as he felt the surging strength in his muscles. Already, the nanomachines had repaired the damage inflicted on his flesh, allowing him to face his enemy whole. Spike, on the other hand, was not as fortunate. His exertion had drained him of much of his strength, and the leg he kicked at Mathis with burned as though on fire. In spite of this, he lifted his chin and smiled, leaning slightly against the wall behind him.

 

“I'm flattered you recognize me. I should warn you though, I never kiss on the first date.”

 

Mathis chuckled, angling to the left as he waited for an opening. The banter was fun, but what he really wanted to do was tear the other man apart with his bare hands… starting with that infuriating smirk.

 

“Is that a fact? And I was just thinking you looked easy.”

 

Spike's smile hardened as he hunched his shoulders. “You willing to test that?” His legs burned with pain, but he pushed it out of his mind. He couldn't deal with discomfort right now.

 

Mathis hunched his shoulders as he feinted to the right. He wanted to keep away from the open hatch to avoid any stray shots that might come his way. Eyeing up his opponent, Mathis chuckled. In spite of his skill, Spiegel was clearly injured, barely able to hold himself upright. This shouldn't take too long.

 

Without warning, he lunged at the other man, his eyes filled with cold purpose.

 

***

 

Spike ducked when Mathis charged him, smoothly avoiding the attack, but paying for it when his legs buckled. Grunting, he rolled out of the way as Mathis tried to kick him in the ribs.

 

“Give it up Spike, this is just prolonging your pain!”

 

Spike gritted his teeth as he dragged himself up a bulkhead, pushing his shoulder against the cold metal as he steadied himself. “As I see it, I'm avoiding pain.” He responded. It was time to end this. Feeling in his belt, he mentally cursed when he discovered his gun was no longer there. Looking to the other side of the passageway, he saw it near Faye, where it had apparently dropped when he'd rolled away from Mathis. There was little time to react, for Mathis was already charging again. Steeling himself, Spike prepared for the attack.

 

***

 

She wallowed in the darkness as the distant sounds of battle struck around her. Something brushed her hand and she opened her eyes.

 

Faye looked forward, examining her surroundings with dull, lifeless eyes. She could feel nothing as long as she remained still. However, the moment she started to move, pain erupted within her, making her groan weakly. Her hand was under her, held against her stomach. Removing it, she saw that it had pressed against the wound, stemming the bloodflow. Grimacing at the dried crimson stains on her skin, she carefully sat up, then slouched against the bulkhead as the motion increased her pain. A loud curse made her swivel her head, only to see a blurred shape stumble clumsily against a wall in a vain attempt to avoid a swinging fist. Rubbing her eyes, she managed to clear her vision enough to realize that the man on the floor was…

 

“Spike…”

 

***

 

Mathis breathed lightly, his blood pumping with endless strength. He felt nothing but contempt for the struggling man at his feet. Something twitched at the corner of his vision and he turned quickly, startled.

 

It was a butterfly. No, it was several, a dozen… hundreds. The fluttered around him like a golden snowfall, streaks of bright color following in their wake. He was nearly shaken to tears by their beauty. A sudden stab of pain lanced through his head, and was gone almost before he realized he'd felt anything. With it's passing, he felt another surge of strength. Looking down at the other man, he had the sudden desire to crush his head between his hands.

 

Acting on his impulse, he reached down, wrapping his long fingers around the scalp… and squeezing.

 

Spike struggled, grasping the rock-hard wrists in his hands as he tried to force the clenching fingers away. It was useless- the grip was too strong. Mathis laughed at the attempt, squeezing harder while Spike grunted in pain, he legs trying to sweep Mathis's feet out from under him.

 

Mathis grinned madly, thrilling in the ecstasy of death. He only released his grip when the bullet entered his back.

 

***

 

Faye hunched around her stomach wound, sighting with shaking hands at the horror taking place before her. Spike was down, and Mathis was on him, crushing out his life.

 

She found the gun almost right away. She knew she had only moments- the shot had to be perfect. Aiming for the head, she prayed to whomever was listening, and squeezed the trigger.

 

“I won't lose you again.”

 

***

 

Spike could feel himself fading. The pressure at his temples had lost the edge of pain, it felt more dreamlike now.

 

He remembered this feeling.

 

Once more, he stood at the chasm while his life drifted at his back. Could he willing step into it again? He said once that he wasn't going out with the intention of dying. But he didn't fear it if it came. Why would he? Anything worth living for was gone, and there was nobody depending on him to survive.

 

_“Are you telling me you're going to just throw your life away?!”_

 

It was her voice; broken, quiet, pleading. She desperately wanted him to stay. But what if he had? She had begged him not to leave, and he turned his back on her, a Ronin warrior on his path to war.

 

_“why do you have to go…”_

 

_“I have been seeing the past in one eye, and the present in the other. I had believed that what I saw was not all of reality...”_

 

The fingers around his head squeezed tighter. Spike kicked out blindly, but met only air. He fought twin battles, one in the present, and one in his memory.

 

  
_“_ _I thought I was watching a dream that I would never wake up from_ _._ _Before I knew it, the dream was all over._ _”_  


 

_And he had gone. And he had died. And then, all that was left for him was dreams._

 

_Only this time, he wouldn't be the only one drifting in numb suffering. Someone `was' depending on him to live this time around._

 

_“We're comrades, remember?”_

 

_He'd denied that by all the times he'd gone off on his own, and she'd reinforced it by coming to his aid… even when he didn't want it._

 

_And now she needed him._

 

_And suddenly, he discovered that death just didn't hold the allure that it had before. He realized, with a surge of shock, that he wanted to survive. Not for her, not for the fact that he might be needed, but because… because the dead were dead, and he might actually be able to live for once._

 

As this thought was formulating, the pressure on his skull suddenly vanished, and a heavy weight fell on him from above, slamming him to the deck.

 

***

 

The bullet struck, but not where she'd intended. Never-the-less, a shot to the spine would work just as good as far as she was concerned. With Mathis incapacitated, she turned her eyes to Spike, who lay on the floor, apparently unconscious. She bit her lower lip as she forced herself to her feet. Shaking terribly, she somehow stumbled to his side.

 

She was sure he was dead. A thread of blood ran from his nose and mouth. Dark circles had formed under his eyes, and his skin was so pale!

 

But, leaning closer, she saw his chest rise with one breath, and then another. Almost weeping in relief, she placed her bound hands on his cheek. “Spike…”

 

Something wasn't right. Something was missing…

 

Gunfire. The atmosphere had suddenly grown dead silent.

 

As she started to turn around, there was the sound of boots on metal. Something solid pressed at the base of her neck.

 

“I know you heal quickly, but I don't think the same can be said for your friend. With that in mind, please don't make a fuss.”

 

Turning her head, she saw the last of the personal guard of the General enter the passageway. The General himself was the one who had spoken. Dropping her pistol, she lowered her head wearily. She didn't even feel the energy for a snide comeback.

 

She knew they would kill Spike once they had her. All she wanted was a way to prevent it. There had to be a way to save him.

 

“I promise not to fight you. It isn't as if I could really do anything anyhow, being I'm fairly well tied up at the moment.” She managed a weak laugh, which fell flat at the stony expressions before her.

 

Crying had never come easy for her… at least, not until Spike walked out of her life. She had cried plenty then. In fact, she could honestly say that moment changed something within her. After careful thought, she realized it had taken away whatever was left of her childhood. She just didn't care about things the way she used to. A matronly voice inside her, she assumed belonged to her mother, wanted to say she had re-prioritized her life. In her own words, Faye thought it more likely she had simply discovered she had priorities. The main one being the unconscious body at her side.

 

She couldn't let him die again.

 

Leaning forward, against the warnings of her soon-to-be captors, she pressed her cheek against the stubbled one beneath hers. Then, breathing in his scent, she softly caressed his lips with her own. The touch caused a slight stir within him, and his eyes slowly opened, confusion filling them. “What…”

 

She turned away then, not wanting to see any other reactions he might have. For many reasons, she wished he'd just stayed asleep.

 

With resignation, she lifted her head. “You can do what you want with me. All I ask… no, beg you to do, is let him live. Please, please let him live.”

 

Though the General assured her they had no reason to kill him, she'd been around enough crooks to read the lie in his eyes. She realized, at that moment, that she'd die to keep him alive. Her eyes steady on the man in front of her, she felt at her side for the weapon she'd released earlier. She couldn't kill them all, but if she could take down the General…

 

“Sir, you need to see this!”

 

At that moment, her hands closed on the gun.


	23. Chapter 23

Jet could hear the sounds of gunfire from two blocks away. He held his gun in one hand and kept communication with Ed on the comm. in his other hand. A short distance away, Caulder was holding his own shouted conversation with someone at the site of the battle.

 

“Dammit, no! I want you to cease firing immediately, do you understand! I'll deal with the military when I arrive, the last thing we need is them coming down on us!”

 

Ahead, a group of about five men were running from the scene- one man held his bloodied arm close to his chest as he fled with his companions.

 

Moments later, there was a final spatter of shots… and then silence.

 

Instead of a feeling of peace, Jet experienced a stab of dread as the quiet seemed to echo around him. This couldn't possibly have ended well.

 

***

 

Bill Hollis crouched behind the freighter as the gunfire faded to nothing. The crimson stain on his arm had stopped spreading, for which he was very grateful. Some of his men, he noted, had run at the first break in the fighting. He really couldn't blame them though, they weren't soldiers after all.

 

Distantly, Hollis could still hear shouting, but no more shots thank goodness. His own ragtag group of fighters huddled around him breathing heavily. It had exploded into far more of a battle than they had anticipated, and they all welcomed the respite, no matter how short it may turn out to be.

 

“Andy, check on Will, that leg doesn't look too good to me. Frank, have you seen Tommy lately”

 

Frank wiped a meaty hand across his sweating brow as he turned to Hollis. “I think him and a few other guys are the ones that ran off about five minutes ago. Don't be harsh on him Bill, he's just eighteen you know.”

 

Hollis shook his head. “I'm not upset, I'm just hoping he survived.”

 

There was an echoing click, and then a voice could be heard speaking through a megaphone.

 

“Hold your fire, everyone drop your weapons! This is the military police, I repeat, drop your weapons and come out where you can be seen!”

 

Bill looked around at his friends. “Well boys, think we can take them?” It was said with a weary smile, knowing the battle was over. In any event, it cut out some of the tension, and with a look of silent agreement, they all stood as one and walked out into the hanger, knowing they could very well be walking into their deaths.

 

***

 

“Sir, you need to see this!”

 

Faye allowed herself no time to think as she raised the gun. She would probably only have one shot before they'd be on her.

 

She'd better make it count.

 

The General turned away from her as the soldier spoke. For a split second, nobody was looking at her. She raised her arms, praying they'd stay steady… and pulled the trigger.

 

There was nothing but a click, the gun was empty.

 

Immediately she was tackled and the gun was wrenched from her hand. Something hard struck her in the back of the head and she fell to her side, dazed.

 

“That will be quite enough of that missy.” Came the droning voice of the General. Faye ignored him as the last of her hopes faded away. Achingly, she rolled on her side, and found herself face to face with Spike. His eyes were slowly focusing, and he was looking at her strangely. She'd seen that look before, and it frightened her for some reason.

 

“I'm sorry.” She whispered. The odd look intensified. She realized the last time he'd looked at her that way was when she'd run into him after taking a shower… the one where she'd finally recovered her memory. She'd apologized then too, something she'd never done before. His brows pulled together as he stared into her eyes. Only one other time had they been this close. The day he'd walked out on them. Only this time, he wasn't the one playing with fate… she was.

 

“Why Faye?”

 

She looked away. Why did it matter anymore?

 

A short ways away, the General was focused on something lying on the floor. All at once, the soldiers raised their rifles, holding them on something. The General spoke through the rustle.

 

“Well now, this is a very interesting turn of events I daresay. Mr. Mathis, would you kindly explain how it is you've recovered from that bullet wound to your back so quickly?”

 

***

 

Jet and Caulder entered the hanger at a trot. Ahead of them, a group of soldiers had their rifles trained on a small group of unarmed men. A short distance away, Caulder's own men were standing about uneasily, their weapons held in tense hands.

 

As Caulder approached, one of the soldiers held up his hand to stay him. “Sir, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave immediately, we have a situation here and civilians are not permitted access.

 

Caulder held up his hand. “My name is Richard Caulder, my men are just over there. I suggest you let me pass.”

 

Jet pushed his way past the soldier. “Trust us kid, we've got more reason to be here than you do.” The soldier tentatively raised his weapon, but paused as he suddenly had twenty barrels pointed his way by Caulder's men. In defeat, he allowed them two men to continue on without protest.

 

***

 

Mathis started to sit up, then paused as the weapons trained on his face. The General was looking at him with a trace of a smile curling his lip.

 

“So Mathis, when were you planning on sharing this little secret of yours?”

 

Mathis winced; his back still ached where he'd been shot. “You have what you came for, just give me what you owe me. And tell your men to get their damn guns out of my face!”

 

The General smiled wider, folding his arms over his thick chest. “If you ask me, two people with the amazing ability to regenerate are far more useful than just one. Don't you think?”

 

Mathis's eyes widened, and with a surge of adrenaline he launched himself at the General, only to be met with the butt of a rifle in his face.

 

The General gestured to the unconscious man. “Take him and Miss Valentine to the ship. And take care of the other one.”

 

***

 

The General had barely passed through the airlock when something cold and hard pressed into his cheek. “I suggest you reconsider your orders General.” Said a gravely voice. The General turned his head to see a large man with a prosthetic arm holding a gun, which was currently pressed to his face.

 

“Miss Valentine happens to be a friend of mine, and I'm taking her back.”

 

Several soldiers stood near the General, weapons trained on the other man. Behind Jet, Mr. Caulder appeared, holding up his hands in peace. “Gentlemen, if I could have a word with you please.”

 

***

 

Once Caulder introduced himself, the General became far more accommodating. It seemed that Richard Caulder was close friends with a Colonel George Buck, who happened to be the General's Commanding Officer. As Caulder made his proposal, Jet slipped by the two men. He could see what looked like the top of Faye's head through the group of soldiers, and he practically threw the men out of his way in an effort to see if she was all right.

 

What he saw stole all the feeling from his limbs. Distantly he heard his gun hit the deck plates with a clank, but he didn't connect the sound to anything that had to do with him. He just couldn't accept what he saw.

 

“S- Spike?” He didn't recognize his own voice, nor did he even realize he had spoken until Faye suddenly turned to him, eyes shining, to call his name.

 

“Oh my God, Jet!”

 

At her exclamation, Spike struggled to sit up, a lopsided smile on his face.

 

“Yo. Took you long enough.”

 

Jet shook his head in disbelief. “Impossible… Caulder told me you survived but… I didn't really believe it…”

 

Spike groaned. “Man, I could really use a cigarette.”

 

The strangeness of the situation struck him, and Jet began to laugh. Moments later, Faye and Spike joined him, their mirth gathering odd looks from the armed men nearby. But that all went unnoticed. For the moment, this was all that mattered.

 

***

 

They stood together in the medical wing of Caulder's building. This time, however, nobody was being held there against their will. Spike grumbled while the leg braces were reattached to his sore limbs, and grudgingly endured the lecture from Dr. Wilde about straining the abused muscles further. On another bed, Faye was being treated for her gunshot wound. The nurse at her side straightened suddenly, a look of confusion in her eyes.

 

“Doctor? Maybe you should look at this.”

 

Wilde finished attaching the brace, then strode quickly to where the nurse was standing. “What's happening Sara?”

 

The young woman gestured to the microscope. “I took a sample of her tissue as you ordered, but… but something doesn't seem right.”

 

Stepping forward, Wilde peered through the lens, a frown deepening the longer he looked. Finally he stepped away, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket. Shaking his head, he walked to Faye's bedside. Her eyes opened wearily as he placed a hand on her head.

 

“What's the verdict, am I gonna die?”

 

Wilde smiled at her. “No, you seem to be recovering quite well. Those little guys inside you managed to heal most of the damage, in spite of everything.”

 

Faye was already drifting as he spoke, and was soon asleep. Ordering the nurse to remain close, Wilde returned to where Spike was already standing, albeit leaning against a nearby wall. Jet stood a short distance away talking on the comm.

 

“Yo Doc, we free to go yet?”

 

Wilde nodded. “As soon as your friend recovers her strength. However, I think there's something you should hear, and Mr. Caulder as well.” At that, he motioned for them to follow him. Signing off, Jet shot Spike a questioning look. With a shrug, Spike simply followed after Wilde. Stashing his communicator, Jet trailed after them.

 

Moments later, the three men stood with Caulder in his office. The shades were up, allowing light to filter into the room. Outside, the activity of the moon progressed as if nothing had happened that day.

 

Caulder sighed as he left his contemplation of the world outside his window. “You had something you needed to tell me Dr. Wilde?”

 

Wilde looked down, not sure how to say what he needed to say. How do you tell a man his dreams were about to die?

 

Caulder did it for him.

 

“They don't work anymore, do they. The nanomachines.”

 

Wilde nodded. “They were already shutting down by the time Miss Valentine arrived in the office. When I checked the sample just now, they were completely inactive. Already the machines were beginning to break down. In a few hours, there will be no trace of them in her body.”

 

“I'm sorry sir.”

 

Caulder nodded. With an odd chuckle, he clasped his hands behind his back. “Guess the General will be in for a bit of a surprise when he realizes Mathis will be useless to them.”

 

Wilde nodded. “Yes, I suppose he will. If you don't mind sir, I should get back to my patient.”

 

Caulder dismissed him with a small wave. “By all means.”

 

After Wilde left, Caulder returned to the window. The two other men weren't sure if he still remembered they were there until he spoke.

 

“All your hopes. You place everything on one thing… and when it's gone, you're left with nothing. It is enough to make you not want to believe in anything.”

 

Jet and Spike shifted uncomfortably, unsure what to say in the face of the older man's devastation. Perhaps aware of their discomfort, Caulder turned to them.

 

“You should get back to your friend. She's waited for you long enough.”

 

When the heavy door closed behind him, Caulder slowly sank to his knees on the thick carpet. He felt as though his limbs had suddenly gained weight, and he no longer had the strength to hold himself up. With a single cry, he slammed the side of his fist into the wall. With no one to witness his pain, he wept his grief in silence.

 

***

 

It was a week before Faye was healthy enough to leave. During her recovery time, both Jet and Spike were invited to stay with the Hollis family. Bill Hollis had been released from military custody, along with his friends, as part of the agreement Caulder made with the General. Jet declined, preferring to return to the Bebop and prepare for departure. Spike spent most of his time with Bill, as he enjoyed the older man's company and his wife's cooking. And though he'd never admit it, it gave him time to think about what had transpired between him and Faye while fighting Mathis. He wasn't sure what to think of that last moment, when Faye prepared to sacrifice herself for him. Did she honestly feel he was really worth it? What would that mean now? As usual, when the thoughts became too heavy, Spike slipped outside for a smoke, a habit generously rekindled by Jet.

 

It was early in the day when they prepared to leave. Spike had already said his goodbyes to the Hollis's, consisting of a wave and a brief `see ya'. Jet stood by the ramp of the Bebop, Ed jumping by his side excitedly. She had already been cautioned not to jump on Faye or Spike until they were healed. However, that didn't prevent her from jumping on Jet when the mood struck her. At her feet, Ein bounced around just as wildly, barking now and then while she giggled happily.

 

Finally, Faye emerged from the building. Richard Caulder walked on one side, with Dr. Wilde on the other. As they neared the Bebop, Spike appeared at the top of the ramp, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Jet glanced up at him, and almost thought he saw a glint of concern in Spike's eyes. Whatever he might have seen, however, was partially obscured by the haze of smoke from Spike's cigarette. Disregarding it, Jet turned back to where Faye had stopped. She was saying something, but from where he was Jet couldn't make out the words. Impatiently, he began tapping his foot. He couldn't get off this moon soon enough!

 

***

 

A few yards from the ship, Faye stopped her progress. Wilde asked if she was alright, but she waved off his concern. Turning to Caulder, she looked the older man in the eyes.

“I know about your son. I just wanted to say… don't give up hope yet. Stay here, wait for him, and love him… until the day he returns to you.” She glanced at the Bebop, up at Spike where he leaned in the hatchway. She smiled softly as he looked back, his brow raised in question. “Sometimes what you wish for most… actually happens.”

 

Once aboard the ship, Faye allowed the last vestiges of stress to bleed from her. She was finally home.

 

The thought brought her up short. Home. It was true, this place really was her home, and the people around her were her family. There was no question they felt the same way after all the trouble they'd gone through to bring her back.

 

Ed giggled at her feet where she was typing at her Tomato. “Faye Faye is smiling!”

 

Faye suddenly bent down and wrapped the other girl in a hug. “It's good to see you too Ed!” Rolling to his feet, Ein barked.

 

It really was good to be home.

 

As the ship lifted off from the surface of the moon, Jet breathed a sigh of relief. Honestly, until that moment, he wasn't totally sure they were going to make it out in one piece.

 

In the main living area, Spike and Faye were playing some sort of card game. In spite of the fact that she wasn't wearing her special ankle bracelets, Faye was still winning. In the corner, Ed tapped away at her computer, with Ein snoring at her side. For a moment, Jet felt a flash of déjà vu. The whole scene was surreal. With the ship set on autopilot, Jet made his way to the kitchen. He had a special surprise for them now that everyone was back onboard.

 

Fifteen minutes later, he leaned into the living room wearing his dark glasses and an apron. “Yo, food's on!”

 

Spike looked up, along with Faye and an already salivating Ed. “What is it?”

 

Jet smiled. “Bell peppers and beef!”

 

Ed cheered. “Alright! Ed is very hungry!” Faye and Spike groaned as they sat at the table. Steaming plates were set before them. Ed and Ein dove in right away. For his part, Spike nudged the food with his chopsticks. Suddenly he stopped, looking at Jet oddly. “There's beef in here.”

 

Faye sat up. “What! Really, there is?” Excitedly she pulled her bowl towards her. “Oh my God, you really cooked something this time!” With almost as much enthusiasm as Ed she scooped a mouthful, chewing quickly. “Wow Jet,” she exclaimed through her mouthful, “this is fantastic! I had no idea you were capable of real food!”

 

Jet crossed his arms. “Now wait just a minute,”

 

Spike swallowed his second bite. “She's right Jet, I have to say I'm impressed. I never would have expected this from you!”

 

The older bounty hunter growled as he grabbed his own bowl. “Quit being obnoxious. Just remember, if you want to eat like this again you're gonna have to start earning your keep!”

 

At his words, the youngest member of the group squealed with glee. “Ed found a bounty!”

 

Jet nearly choked on his food.

 

“Gah, what? You did?”

 

Ed nodded. “Yep! A really really bad man!” Flipping away from the table, she grabbed her Tomato. “See, here he is!”

 

All three of them leaned forward. Faye read the numbers out-loud.

 

“Fifty Thousand Woolongs for the capture of… oh God, you have got to be kidding me!”

 

Ed recited happily. “Andrew Mathis! This subject is highly dangerous and prone to violent mood swings. If spotted, do not approach but contact your local authorities immediately!”

 

“He got away from the military?”

 

Spike shook his head. “Those guys would lose their dicks if they weren't in their pants.”

 

Jet looked around at the group. “Well, what do you say?”

 

Faye smiled slowly. “Yeah, let's do it!”

 

Spike nodded as well. “He and I have some unfinished business.”

 

Jet stood to his feet. “It's settled then. Ed, get me his last known coordinates. Spike, no lone gun crap this time- you and Faye can work together for once!”

 

Spike sputtered. “Jet, are you kidding- Faye?”

 

The object of his ire smiled tightly. “Sorry pal. When you left the ship, I moved up the ladder. As of this moment, I'm the one calling the shots!”

 

Spike leaned back against the couch. “We'll see about that.”

 

Faye grinned. “Wanna make a bet?”

 

Ein barked.

 

 

 

 

 

**_It's come full circle…_ **


End file.
